Bad Moon Rising
by gosalyngirl
Summary: Binkie winds up dead: victim of a brutual murder. Now Darkwing knows he must find the true killer, one crazed maniac with a taste for blood....FINALLY FINISHED!WARNING: STRONG LANGUAGEVIOLENCE
1. Disclaimer

This particular fanfiction houses some content that might not be suitable for all audiences. I am over-exaggerating, but I don't want any bad e-mails, lol. I'll post chapters as I type them ( I can't write from a computer, good 'ol pencil and paper suits me) but please PLEASE read and respond! Thanks!  



	2. Trouble In Paradise

**BAD MOON RISING**

  
By  
Lesley Hall

_I see the bad moon rising  
I see trouble on the way  
I see earthquake and lightnin'  
I see bad times today_

Don't go around tonight  
Well, it's bound to take your life  
There's a bad moon on the rise  
  
-CCR  


Drake Mallard sprinted the last few feet up to his home on Avian Way. The sweat that had accumulated during his ten mile run shimmered against his sleek six pack abdominals and toned arms in the morning sunlight. He glanced at his wristwatch as he walked up the front lawn. The jog took exactly an hour, equalling six-minute miles.  
"Not bad!" he thought to himself gleefully. He was going to kill at that 10K run next month. He had no shirt on, and in the running shorts he wore, you could tell his implicit athleticism was outmatched only by his lean, mean body.  
He flexed his arms against the evaporating moisture on his feathered skin, admiring the creases of muscle strengthening. He still looked as scrawny as ever, and once realizing he would never obtain a bulky stature, decided to count his blessings.

Drake sprang into his home, greeting the half-asleep Gosalyn with congeniality that seemed of a slightly weaker entity than Gosalyn's grumpiness.  
"Good morning, kiddo." he practically sang as he followed the indolent Gosalyn into the kitchen.  
"Good...whatever." she said as she obtained the proper utensils for what cereal Launchpad had yet to inhale. Drake said good morning to Launchpad, who returned a more benevolent response.  
"Hey Dw! Hey hey, lookin' good! Those daily trips to the gym really paid off."  
"Definately, Lp. I haven't felt this good since I was seventeen." He grabbed a white tee-shirt from the hamper and a bottle of water and took a seat beside Gosalyn at the breakfast table.  
"You look like a martial artist." Gosalyn managed to express her opinion through a mouthful of Frosty O's.  
"I am a martial artist. I've got at least a first dan in all major martial arts..Quack Fu, Tae Kwack Do..."  
"Yeah, yeah. I know. I mean you're really skinny like those karate guys. No kind of figure..just, skinny muscle."  
"There's nothing wrong with keeping yourself looking good. _Especially_ when you're in the kind of work I'm in." he commented as he switched on the television placed on the kitchen counter.  
_"....and tommorrow on the Breakfast Show we'll have Darkwing Duck on to discuss his latest adventures and his overwhelming rise to stardom..."_  
"Keen Gear! You didn't tell me you were going on the Breakfast Show! Like..every huge star appears on there at least once!" Gosalyn's eyes widened to the size of her cereal bowl.  
Drake shrugged as he got up to leave. "Yeah, this is the third time this year. The producer told me ratings tripled when I came on. Yeah yeah ahhh-everyone just wants a piece of Darkwing Duck." Drake smiled admirably as he trudged out the kitchen door. Gosalyn exchanged glances with Launchpad, muttering, "Can someone honestly love themselves as much as he does?"  
Launchpad smiled at her as he stood from the table, already rendering the now empty cereal box useless and vestigal.  
"You konw your dad, Gos," he said with a smile. "He always seems to achieve the impossible."

*********************

"Gosalyn, are you just trying to look unattractive, or did you happen to kick out that family that used to live in those jeans?" Drake asked as they pulled into the Muddlefoot's driveway. Gosalyn looked down at her attire that consisted of baggy pants, flat DC skateboard shoes, and a red tee shirt that read 'It's better to keep your mouth shut and appear stupid than to open it and remove all doubt.'  
"I'll have you know, Mark Twain originally said this, thank you very little. At least I don't dress like a prep." Gosalyn's ridiculing stare at her father's polo collared tee-shirt and loose khakis made him instantly realize whom she was referring to.  
"Hey, beats the green vest." He smiled at her.  
She relaxed and grinned back. "Beats the crap out of that geeky vest."  
The father and daughter who resembled one another so much that sharing DNA would be useless, watched as Honker ran outside and jumped into the backseat of the Mallard's new black Tahoe.  
"M..Mr. Mallard?" Honker's pubescent voice was high and squeaky.  
"Yes, Honker?"  
"M..my mom would like to talk with you." Honker pointed up to the front door where Binkie Muddlefoot stood. Drake nodded and hopped out of the vehicle.  
Once he was out, Honker asked, "Wow, Gos. When did your dad get this?" The pimple-faced duckling ran his fingers delicately over the leather interior of the Chevy Tahoe.  
"Too hip by far, huh? I talked him into it yesturday after he received that big check for appearing in that Jay-Z video."  
"He appeared in a Jay-Z video?" Honker marveled, his thick glasses unable to mask his amazement as he shifted his bony frame around. "How much did he get?"  
Gosalyn shrugged. "I don't know. All I know is that Jay-Z's new song's expected to last in the top five on MTV for weeks because of dad." She said, her chest swelling in pride.  
"Your dad probably made tons off of it." Honker speculated. "He's really gotten famous."  
"Yeah, and he deserves it. Darkwing Duck has risked life and limb for everyone. It's time he got some recognition." Gosalyn leaned back, sighing. "All I know is, I'll be sixteen next month and I'd best be getting something like this right here."

He first noticed the abhorrent feeling in the pit of his stomach as he walked the perptual front driveway of the Muddlefoot's home, and by the time he reached Binkie, the feeling exploded throughout his body, shooting sensations about him. Binkie stood in a pair of shorts and a modest tank top, attire completely out-of-character for the demure lifestyle of Binkie's. Yet what caught Drake's attention was her broken expression.  
"Binkie-" Drake began as Binkie broke into quiet sobs and ushered him into the house. Once the door was closed and their conversation was out of eyeshot, Binkie fell haphazardly into his arms.  
"H-h-he did it again!" she wailed, while Drake held her limp body awkwardly in his arms. Once her head slid and she seemed to press herself against the zipper of his khakis and remain in that position long enough for Drake's mind to wander...in which he snapped quickly from it and pulled her to her feet.  
"Binkie, you must recite what we've talked about. Whenever you feel Herb is ignoring you, you must remember 'No beer, pizza, Koo Koo Cola or Pelican's Island marathon can-"  
"-ever be more important than me. Oh I know Drake but he didn't so much as acknowledge my presence at all!" she finally managed to stand to her feet, wiping her eyes with a tissue.  
"Well, what else is new?"  
"Last night was our anniversary!" she moaned like a dying cat as she collapsed hard onto the floor oncemore. Drake knelt to a knee as she continued.  
"I thought whenever he got home he'd bring candy, or flowers, or jewelry...nothing! He just gives me this peck on the cheek and asks when dinner'll be done and when I ask him 'Herbert Muddlefoot. Do you not remember what day this is?' he just looked at me a moment before exclaiming 'The Bachelor premier!' and runs into the living room."  
Drake put a comforting hand on her shoulder before rolling his eyes at Herb's stupidity. He and Morgana weren't even married, yet the thought of missing an anniversary....well, it seemed too horrible to fathom. Especially with the affection he'd been getting since he slimmed down and toned up-she couldn't keep her hands off of him.  
"What if he's cheating on me?" Her words threw Drake forcefully against the brick wall of reality as he looked down at her, dumbfounded.  
"Herb? No, not-"  
"Oh, yeah." she said, sniffling uncontrollably. "All of his late nights, always on Quackerware jobs. He's got someone else. He has to. Why else would he act this way?"  
Drake shook his head at the thought of something of such dimension disturbing the banality of their existance.  
"Binkie, listen to yourself. You know Herb would never cheat on you. He doesn't have the heart, nor the crainial capacity." The last was said a little more to himself than out loud.  
"Well, either way," she said, her voice and countenance shriveling into such sheer infuriation and brutality that it sent chills up Drake's spine.  
"I don't think I love him anymore, anyway."

Darkwing Duck, Morgana McCawber, Gosalyn Mallard, Honker Muddlefoot, Herb Muddlefoot, Launchpad McQuack and all other character are copyright by Disney and used without permission for entertainment and NOT for profit. CCR's "Bad moon rising" is also used w/out permission but not for profit. I know I embellished a little on Darkwing's fame, but I like to think that Dw's getting some recognition for what he's done. Also, I know this chap is kind of put-puttin' along, but it's all preliminary stuff and the next chap's are going to be better. Copywright Lesley Hall. 


	3. Tainted Linoleum

**BAD MOON RISING  
Chapter 2  
BY  
Lesley Hall**

_Hope you got your things together  
Hope you are quite prepared to die  
Looks like we're in for nasty weather  
One eye is taken for an eye  
_  
-CCR  


When Drake returned to the vehicle, he found Honker nose first in a book and Gosalyn with the music up loud enough to rattle your teeth in your skull, imitating the electric guitar humming in the background.  
Sitting behind the wheel and lowering the volume, he sat silent, his face still but his thoughts in hyper-drive.  
"Dad? What was that all about?" Gosalyn asked as he shook himself from his daze.  
"Wha-huh?"  
"Does my mom seem a little different to you, Mr. Mallard?" Drake could feel Honker's fragile state radiating from his questioning eyes.  
"Huh? I-uh, no. Not at all." He lied bad enough to make a nun plug her nose as he reversed out of the driveway and drove in the direction of St. Canard High School.

***************

"Wow, Dark. I never knew 'normal' food could taste so delicious." Morgana stated as he led her out of the upper class restaurant. He smiled at her comically, and when she noticed, he explained, "I just never thought I'd hear you say you enjoyed normal food. Indifference? Yes. Toleration? Most definately, but _enjoyed_? Wow."  
Morgana raised an eyebrow at his statement. "Oh, That so?" she smiled.  
"Yeah..oh, look!" He immediently motioned towards the sky. Morgana followed his gaze. "What? What? A shooting star?"  
"Noo," he said with a grin. "I just saw a pig fly by."  
Morgana caught the joke and shoved him playfully. Laughing, she took a seat in the passenger side of his new vehicle after he opened the door. Taking his place behind the wheel, she shifted her legs and asked casually what else he had in store for the evening. Smiling eloquently, he eyed her short black dress and hair falling consummately about her shoulders and said, "Oh, I have an idea or two."

With his Tahoe perched at the edge of the cliff that overlooked the city, he turned the radio on a soft music station and looked at her. She laughed at his actions.  
"Oh, I see. So you buy me dinner and expect me to return the favor? For a crimefighter, you really are quite naughty." She gave him a smile that set his heart ablaze. Drake leaned back in his seat and stretched his arms out. "Well, the way I see it, it's a beautiful night, the cops are patrolling for me, and I look really _really_ hot." He grinned as he looked at his open black dinner jacket, white collared longsleeved shirt and loose khaki pants. Morgana laughed at his observation.  
"Oh, so you're the hotter one in this car, hmm? Well then, you can just love on yourself here at makeout point.." She watched him as he slid from the driver's side into the backseat. He gave her a smile as he looked at her gorgeous face, lit only by the light of the dash and stereo controls radiating from the front of the vehicle. Helping her into the backseat as well, he sat her by him and ran his fingers through her hair. It felt like he was gliding his hands through strands of pure silk.  
"Morgana, you are by far the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life." He murmered as he gently brushed her hair back and kissed the nape of her neck.  
Morgana closed and eyes and sighed at his intrepid skill, yet before she got so caught up in the moment, she gave in to her curiosity. "I just have to ask.."  
"Hmm?" He replied, busying his lips too much to give a good reply.  
"Why'd you bring me to makeout point when we could just go to your house?"  
Drake ceased his movement to look at her, and with a boyish grin, said, "Well, I haven't been here since I was seventeen, and that was with Sandy Roberts in the back seat of my 1973 Mustang." She gigled as he kissed her on the mouth.  
"Plus," he added. "I just bought this SUV, and I'm dying to try out the shocks..."

Driving down the road towards his home, Drake blasted the defrost in a desperate attempt to rid the moisture plastered on the windows.  
He looked over at Morgana, who was engrossed in the after effects of their actions. Her dress was wrinkled, her hair was damp and askew, and perspiration trickled down her body. She opened her eyes when she felt his gaze on her.  
She laughed, "You buttoned your shirt wrong." She looked at the sweat flattening out the feathers on his head.  
"Well, it's the best I could do in the time we had."  
She giggled insidiously. "Oh, I can't believe we were busted by the police! Wasn't that the most hilarious thing ever?"  
Drake cracked a smile. "The funniest was that swipe you made on my back glass with your hand."  
Morgana batted her eyes at him. "Well, I wanted to pretend I was on the movie 'Titanic.'" She smiled as she leaned over and licked his neck. He raised an eyebrow.  
"Again?"  
"There's just something about you that I'm addicted to." She trailed her fingers delicately down his gleaming chest as she gave him an expertly placed hicky on his neck.  
"Well, no one's at my house. Lp's in Duckberg visiting family and Gos is at Honker's." He looked at her with a mischevious grin. Morgana matched his intimations with a smile.  
"Okay then, Darkwing Duck. Let's get dangerous."

Her moaning chants of his name were so loud that it muted the screeches coming from outside, but he heard them.  
The first set of screams he barely placed and didn't allot them room to be deciphered and placed in his mind...other things took precedent. Despite that, the shreaks continued on and as Morgana sucked in a ragged breath and dug her nails hard enough into his back to draw blood, the wails of pure terror resonated in his head, and he sprang from this bed, heart thumping wildly.  
"Wha..what?! What's going on?" Morgana gasped breathlessly as she watched him flop off the bed (stupid sheets) and onto the floor.  
"Screams. From the Muddlefoot's." He choked as he slid on his boxers and his crumpled khakis. It was when the air was quiet that she heard them too, and in a flash was also off the bed. She grabbed his white button-down shirt from the floor and a pair of his flannel pajama pants he had folded on his dresser top and and threw them on, falling far behind Drake as he tore down the stairs, bare chested and frantic. She ran after him, struggeling to pull up her pants.

The door to the Muddlefoot's was locked, and when two prominant knocks proved unsuccessful, Drake stood back and in a swift motion kicked open the door, rupturing the dead-bolt and all.  
Morgana had just caught sight of his attack on the now split front door as she sprinted across the cool, damp grass of the adjoining yards and followed behind him inside the house, utterly shocked at his entry on the first attempt.  
"Gosalyn!! Gosalyn where are you?!" Drake screamed for her in a voice that was both aggressive and terrified. Not getting a response sent pinpricks up his spine as he exploded through the swinging saloon-style kitchen doors.

He saw her. Dead and bleeding on the floor. He stopped still the instant he saw her body. Gosalyn, who was standing on the opposite side of the kitchen, ran to him, crying.  
"Gos!" He yelled as she ran and nearly tackled him to the ground in an attempt for protection and alleviation of the scene.  
"Are you okay?" He held her at arm's length for inspection. She nodded and dug her face into his chest.  
"What in the hell happened?!!" Drake backed his daughter away from the body and looked wildly about. Herb, Honker, and Tank were all three standing around Binkie's body. Well, Honker was huddled under the kitchen table, where Gosalyn had also taken refuge. Tank merely stood, a stature as tall and almost as wide as his father's, and only sixteen years old. Herb stood unsteadily beside him, holding a gun limply in his hand and teetering on his own two feet. He was marinated in blood and tears were streaking down his face.  
"Drake!! I-I don't know!" He wailed as he flung the gun around as if it were a toy. Drake jerked Gosalyn out of the sleek barrel's sight and motioned for Morgana to take the trembling redhead. At first she refused to lessen the iron grip she had around her father, but he coaxed her gently and in hearing Herb's deafining screams erupting from his tear-streaked face, assented and went to her. Morgana held her protectively and backed away.  
"Now, Herb." Drake began, slowly advancing on him. "How about you give your buddy Drake the gun?"  
Morgana's breath caught in her throat as she watched him advance on the blubbering murderer. She tightened her grip around Gosalyn and backed herself up to the wall of the kitchen, knocking a 'St. Canard Living' calender off the wall. Gosalyn merely whimpered, rendered helpless.  
Drake stretched out an arm towards the massive duck, but Herb did not move.  
"You're my buddy, right? Drakester? You believe I didn't do this...to Binkie?" His voice went alist as the gun quivered by his head. Drake calmly inched to him, arms out in preparation. He was bare-chested, which Morgana felt was an enticing target. She broke into a cold sweat as Drake got no more than a foot from Herb, his daughter's shaking intensified.  
"Of course you didn't..." He patronized the inconsolible duck as he slowly reached for the gun.  
"But...I think I ought to take this." He whispered, as if talking to an illiterate. Herb's arms fell to his side as he watched Drake slowly pull the gun from his grip. Once the gun was out of his reach, Drake dislodged the cartrage and sat the empty gun on the counter, taking note not to touch the handle or anywhere except the flat bottom and sides of the barrel.  
Drake asked Morgana in a tone as calm as she was frazzled if she'd go back to the house with Gosalyn, call the police, and remain there. She did so obediently, running across the yards in the washing glow of the streetlamp and running so fast she almost tripped and fell.

Drake knelt down beside Binkie and felt her pulse on her wrist. His forebodings told him not to go anywhere near her neck, for the tissue was severed and blood lay in a deep pool around her body. Severe bruising indicated possible strangulation, as well as her pale, bluish complexion.  
For a moment, Drake swore he saw her eyes move. The glassy, aimless eyes seemed to beam with life and look at him. Her mouth-caked in blood-twitched and moved, almost whispering something. Dazed, he shook himself only to see that she was oncemore stoic. Her lifeless eyes looked idily upward, perhaps at the heaven meant for innocent, loving wives like her who had fulfilled their merciless destinations: dead and bleeding on the pearly linoleum floors she mopped daily.

The police showed up no more than a moment later, scanning the scene and demanding questions. Drake explained his reason for being present-that his daughter had been over when the screams took place. As he directed an officer as to what had happened, he noticed several officers taking Herb and trying to immobilize him. He seemed ecstatic, wailing as he screamed for Binkie, begging her to come back. Tears fled from his eyes as the cops pulled him away and out the door. The officer consulting Drake also paused, on the verge of assisting them in taking out the big fellow. A lady officer escorted Tank out, who walked casually with a look of indifference washed over his face. Drake frowned at him as he walked by, but was distracted when another female officer tried to coax Honker out from under the kitchen table. Her efforts were in vain, for the poor boy would merely howl and scoot away from her grasp. Drake interrupted her attempts and told her he'd take care of Honker until further notice. The police gave consent, but felt it necessary to have the children in for questioning as soon as possible.  
The body was taken out on a gernie, the blood still oozing from her neck matting the white sheet against her face. Drake knew instinctively that investigationing would begin at dawn, in which time Darkwing would be present. He would get to the bottom of this, and fast.

Once the kitchen was empty and the police tape was barricating the lawn, Drake walked over to the kitchen table and knelt down. "How are you, Honkman?" He asked amiably, realizing how ridiculous of a question it was. Honker didn't respond, but sat there, his legs wrapped into his arms. Drake knelt lower to see him better, amazed at a boy his height being able to curl himself in such a tight ball.  
"Hey champ, how about you come with me? You can stay at my house with Gos." He knew he was underestimating Honker, cooing to him like a small child. The boy had an I.Q. of a genius, yet sadly the limitations of a defenseless thirteen year-old.  
Honker sat there for a long time, a mixture of indecisiveness and sheer misery plastered on his paled face. Yet when Drake extended his hand, Honker accepted. Drake pulled the boy out, putting an arm supportively around his waist and leading him out of the house as quickly as possible.  
Walking out of the house, what police were there broke into applause in the success of resurrecting Honker from under the table. He knew the boy hated to be the center of attention, and it must be ten times worse under such atrocities.

The dimmed face looking at him was the only thing that made him look. Honker had kept his eyes shut and his face pressed against Drake's shoulder, yet when that feeling of being watched came over him, he was forced to look. Tank was staring him down from his place in the police car. When their eyes met, Tank gave him the most disturbing smile, followed by running his index finger across his neck homicidally. Silenced by fear, Honker held onto Drake even tighter.

**********************

Drake, now donning the illustrious Darkwing garb, drove Morgana up to her looming 18th century castle, pulling up close to the curb and cutting the motor of the Ratcatcher. Sighing, he received a kiss as she climbed out of the passenger's car.  
"Dark?" She asked in a concerned voice as she saw him gaze off into the twilight.  
"Hmm? Oh, sorry..what?"  
"Are you going to be alright? Do you want me to stay with you until..."  
Darkwing stopped her in mid-sentence as he hopped deftly from his bike and took her hand. "No, Morg. It's not necessary. You helped me get the kids to sleep. I can take it from here."  
"Okay." She sounded a little dismayed that he didn't need her. "Dark, what are you going to do?"  
Darkwing looked out towards the horizon and sighed deeply. "Go to work. The cops will be there in a couple of hours. I have to help solve this murder."  
Morgana nodded, the air between them held thick with revelation.  
"I, uh..I really don't think you want to answer this now, but I..uh-"  
Darkwing smiled wearily. "-you want to know if I think Herb killed her."   
She nodded, her eyes fixated on him.  
He shrugged, torn between what his heart felt and what his mind screamed. He could wade into the conversation deep enough that he and Morgana could be out on that lonely sidewalk all day, but instead, he cut the fine print and shrugged. "Only one way to find out."  
Walking her up to her door and kissing her tenderly, he bid farewell to his enigmatic lover. She returned passionately, and gave him an earnest caveat. "Dark, be careful. Please."  
Her eyes held urgency in their crystallic green hue as he smiled at her and replied, "I will. Trust me, I will."

Darkwing Duck, Morgana McCawber, Muddlefoots, and all other Disney cartoon characters I used are copyright by Disney and used without permission but for entertainment purposes only. NOT for profit. I've been working on this fic off and on for quite awhile. Please read and respond! Thanks! Copyright gosalyngirl. 


	4. Scratching The Surface

Bad Moon Rising: Chapter 3  
BY  
Lesley Hall

_

Someone told me long ago there's a calm before the storm  
I know; it's been comin' for some time  
When it's over, so they say, it'll rain a sunny day  
I know; shinin' down like water

_

I want to know, Have you ever seen the rain  
I want to know, Have you ever seen the rain  
Comin' down on a sunny day  


"Cause of death was massive bleeding from the caroted arteries." Dr. Phil, one of the leading forensic pathologists in the city said in his most professional voice as he hovered over the late houswife. Darkwing listened to him as he went into full detail of the time of death and what he surmised was the murder weapon. As he listened, Darkwing couldn't help but lower his gaze at her body, lying still on the metallic table. She was nude, except for a white sheet that glowed under the flourescent light. The sheet covered her up to her shoulders, exposing her severed neck. Darkwing's stomach flopped.  
"So they didn't strangle her, Phil?"  
"No, that wasn't the cause of death..although..." he leaned over her body, picked up a tiny scapula, and directed their eyes to the discolored areas on her neck. "There are finger prints-"  
He poked and prodded in the mutilated tissue and Darkwing shuddered. "Herb-I-I mean Mr. Muddlefoot's?"  
Dr. Phil looked at him tartly. "Yes, and please don't interrupt. You know I hate it when you do that."  
"Boo hoo." He replied sarcastically.  
Dr. Phil sighed as he removed his glasses from his goose-bill and cleaned them with his starched lab coat. Replacing them on his face, he walked over to where Darkwing stood.  
Darkwing was currently gazing at Binkie in an almost regrettable stare.  
"You're looking at her as if she was your best friend."  
His words broke Darkwing's sad and sympathetic gaze.  
"Well, I knew her. A friend of a family I know. It's just such a shame..she was such an innocent and loving person. I can't see why anyone would want to kill her...or even could, for that matter." He sighed as he removed his hat, his state of mind seemed so incongruent to his usual thoughts of Binkie. She had always been so docile and sweet. Always smiling and always happy. She was the conservative mother-Brady Bunch clone, a rarety of the modern-day liberals of the millenium. Although while she was alive her chronic cheeriness got on his nerves, now he'd give so much to have her back. Tormenting Drake about Gosalyn's masculine ways, always knocking on their door in hope her generosity could be brought to good use at the Mallard's. She even went as far as knitting them all sweaters during the winter. There's just so much people take for granted.  
"She was a mother?" Dr. Phil stated more than asked.  
"Yeah, two boys. Honker and Tank." Darkwing's mind instantly began to churn and whirl once it found a good grasp on Tank. His cool manner after Binkie's slaughter, almost as if it had been a goldfish that died instead of his mother. Darkwing's eyes clouded over and Dr. Phil asked him what he was thinking.  
"Oh, nothing. So, uh.. is that all? Everything you've told me I could have recited before the autopsy."  
Dr. Phil smiled sardonicially, his lips laced in dis-like. "Well, Mr. Know-it-all, I don't think you could have guessed that she had been raped before death, hmm? Or...do you have some sort of psychic corpse-reading power?"  
Darkwing gave him a dark look. "What! No...you're not serious."  
Dr.Phil shook his thick head, his many chins jiggling like Jell-O. "On the contrary, serious as a heart attack." He remained emotionless as he walked the length of her body. He took the edge of the sheet that concealed her bottom half, and lifting it, asked, " Do you want to see?"  
"NO!" His response was pure reflex. The brain didn't even have to register for him to spit it out. "Just...tell me."  
"Muscular tears along the b.c walls, internal abrasions and severe strain against the organs and cervix-"  
"Sperm sample?" Once again, Darkwing earned a harsh glare from Dr. Phil for interrupting. "Noo...but I did get a very small strip of fabric." He walked over to a table opposite the room. Darkwing followed him with his eyes.  
Handing Darkwing a clear, plastic evidence bag, he stepped back and allowed the crimefighter light to see.  
"What the hell," Darkwing's voice was scratchy enough to spit gravel.  
"Object rape?"  
"Object rape." Dr. Phil repeated him in confirmation. Darkwing inspected the piece of brown fabric no bigger than the tip of a finger.  
" Investigators took a glance at it. Said they'd wanted to take it with them to the scene. Told 'em I needed to let you at least gander at it." Dr. Phil adjusted his glasses and leaned in further. "Figure you'd know just as easily. Got any clue?"  
Darkwing inspected the piece with intense scrutiny. After a moment of deep congetation, he sighed and shook his head.  
"Not a clue. It's imperative that I take it to the S.O.C, though. Something I'll run across will give me a hint."  
Dr. Phil waved him on with a passive hand as he walked across to the neighboring gerny, taking a white donut box and removing a pastry.  
"Go on, take it. Most of those losers don't know their asses from a hole in the ground. If it was up to me you'd be in charge."  
"And see, a year ago you would've liked to see me behind bars." Darkwing said, wishing he could smile but finding it an inappropriate time to do so.  
Dr. Phil took a bite of his jelly donut and leaned against a counter. Behind him lay a deep sink, housing a huge mass of organs and tissue. Darkwing could feel himself getting queasy and took a step towards the door.  
"People change, my friend. A person can change in any which way over a remarkably short amount of time. I may work with dead people every day, but...even the dead have their secrets to tell." The doctor studied the crimefighter a moment before giving a glance at the pallored woman on the table and then back at Darkwing. Darkwing looked away. He knew who he was referring to. If what he said were true, then Herb could have very well killed Binkie. Tied her down and...  
"Her wrists!" Darkwing startled Dr. Phil by jumping from his place. "Were her wrists bruised?"  
Dr. Phil finished his donut, wiping jam from his mouth against his bloodied lab coat. The two colors mixed together in an illusory image. Binkie's blood and jam.  
"Actually, they were. Restraints, I'm assuming. Bruising along the tissue proves that no one's hands were used to hold her down, and a hairline fracture in 3 of the seven carpals suggests struggle. Complete fractures in all ankle tarsals and a completely broken right wrist." He removed Binkie's hand from under the blanket, setting it into view. The hand looked swollen, almost engorged. A sickening bluish-black hue.  
"And you have no idea what the restraints were?" Darkwing asked as he glanced over the wrist.  
"Once again, the demand of your expertise is imperative."  
Not bothering to smile, Darkwing's investigative mind went to work. It took but a brief moment to realize what it was. "...Tape bruise." He murmered, almost in a trance.  
"Tape?"  
He snapped himself from the daze. "Uh, yeah. Well, adhesive bandages. Athletic tape. You know, what a sport's player uses to tape an ankle of wrist in order to keep from injuring something further."  
Dr. Phil walked over and leaned over her body, mumbling inaudibly.  
"Yes. I see the small areas where the skin was torn off. It's hard to find because of the bruising." He looked over at his caped comrade, who was still examining her wrist. "Darkwing, what if it was duct tape? Wouldn't that have the same effect?"  
Darkwing gave him a look as the question endeared him and he withdrew his rather large magnifying glass from his double-breasted jacket. He knelt low over Binkie's wrist, and gazing through the huge instrument, looked with the scrutiny of someone trying to weasel out a single flea on a mutt's backside. "Good question..even better answer." He stood upright.  
"The marks left from the tape are designed in a criss-cross type fashion. Duct tape is practically water-resistant and therefore has a more straight-lined adhesive pattern, unlike athlete's tape, which can loose its ability to adhere."  
A gentle twitch of the eye was all he received from the astonished doctor. "How in holy hell did you come up with such an accurate hypothesis?"  
Darkwing gave him a mere glance before returning to his inspection. "My dau-errI mean my _friend's_ daughter is really active in sports..." The doctor was looking at him more closely. "Y-ya know..tike's gotten so close to me that I mistake her for my own." He chuckled a little, which rolled into a clearing-of-the-throat and an abrupt change of the subject.  
"Well, very perceptive." Dr. Phil amended. "But inquiring minds must ask..who would tie her down with athlete's tape? Why not a neck tie, or a rope, or..."  
"Whatever was at hand." Darkwing interjected. "Had to grab something quickly."  
Dr. Phil gave a short shake of the head and walked back over to his donut box, currently more fascinated with the sugary-fried treat oozing jam than another victimized murder.  
"But I don't know why anyone in that family would own athletic tape-" Darkwing left his position over her body and placed his hand to his chin in thought. "Binkie hardly left the house. Honker's more into mollecular division than sports, and Tank just wants to eat and/or destroy everything."  
"Maybe Mr. Muddlefoot or the kids had a non-sports related injury."  
Darkwing completely ignored the doctor, whose suggestions were doing nothing but hindering his thought process, and began to wonder if Gosalyn had left it over there one day. She had no joint or muscle injuries, but the child had a very vivid imagination and could think up a million and one things to use that tape for. 'Nah, she's out of that rambunctious stage.' He reasoned, pursing his lips involuntarily. He also didn't notice anything bandaged on anyone else.  
"Maybe Mr. Muddlefoot walked. He was heavy-set, which could put additonal strain on all joints. Maybe he strained an ankle."  
Darkwing looked over at the egg-shaped man with a pot-gut and balding head.  
"No, not Herb. He wouldn't break a sweat if it meant his life." His mind then reminded him of how bad Herb had perspired when Drake had splintered the door trying to get in. You could give the credit to a man tied up and set on fire.  
Darkwing hissed at himself to think as minutes rolled by and still no intimations surfaced. Dr. Phil noticed his tension and urged the masked mallard to calm down before he had a stroke.  
"This is crazy! I'm wasting time. I'm going to investigate." Darkwing threw his hands up in exasperation as he grabbed his gray fedora and charged for the door.  
Dr. Phil shooed him on. "Go on, kid. More power to ya." He then added more to himself. "Now I can go play golf."  
Darkwing disregarded what the doctor had said, and almost made it out the door before the man's afterthought registered in his mind. Doing a double-take and running back into the room (and nearly scaring the old man into cardiac arrest), he exploded into the doorway and demanded, "WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?"  
The doctor remained speechless, silenced by his beseechment. He looked like a deer caught in the path of a semi.  
"_ Tell me, dammit!!!_"  
"Err..I..uh..More power to ya?"  
"After that!!"  
"Playing golf?"  
"YESS!" He howled effusively as he exposed the bag containing the single fabric, extracted from Binkie's most private empire.  
Darkwing examined the piece, and once he felt the evidence vindicated his thoughts, gave a triumphant grin. "Right here is a piece of fabric off of Herb's pro-series golf clubs. The handles are imported leather. Leather that's very hard to define. " He could kiss himself for halfway listening to Herb as he flashed his new golf clubs one day last week, rambling about the handle's firm grip.  
"That would explain the athletic tape?" Dr.Phil said quietly, almost afraid to re-kindle the crimefighter's vivacity.  
"It does when he used it to keep his jammed finger from interrupting his putting."  
The doctor raised an eyebrow. "Jammed finger?"  
"Opening a soup can."  
"Got athlete's tape over all else?"  
"Borrowed it from the next-door neighbors." Vague and (at the time) irrelevent memories clawed their way back into his conscious thought as he remembered Launchpad trying to tell him something about lending Herb the tape, which Drake ignored. Hey, what could he do? He was in a very intriguing phone conversation with Morgana.  
Sighing at all the information given to him at once, the doctor applauded openly. " Tell me, how do you know so much about so much?"  
Darkwing confiscated the evidence bag and smiled.  
"I'm Darkwing Duck, and I'm just that good."

********************************************** 

Darkwing Duck arrived at the Muddlefoots' as the morning sun perched radiantly in the eastern horizion. Investigators were scrambling about, gathering evidence and conversing amongst their colleagues on possible equations to the devious answer.  
As Darkwing stepped over the police tape and into the open house, all that seemed to enter his mind were sounds of ignorant assumption and pretentious accusations.  
"Well, Muddlefoot could've done this..."  
"I bet he was sick of her always doing that..."  
Darkwing resisted telling them all to shove it up sideways; none of them knew Herb nor Binkie. All of them were merely assuming unjustified truths: husband gets sick of wife, husband gets drunk, husband slaughters wife and goes psycho. They were all riding their endless merry-go-rounds in a perverse world where no one cares beyond what's recommended.  
His mind threw him back when he was a child, walking the creekbeds amidst the woods that surrounded his grandmother's house as a young boy. He remembered tripping over what felt like a swollen leg of a deceased calf that had lain in the sun too long. Yet when he picked himself up, he realized he had unearthed a fairly new corpse. It was of an older woman, her cloths tattered and her eyes gouged from the feeding ravens. He remembered how his chest tightened to the point of suffocation as he ran, blindedly sprinting through the dense woods until he found the small dirt path that led back to his grandmother's home. His grandmother had ran out to meet him, and he realized only then that he had screamed the entire way. He had cared, but not about the woman. Only that the dirty-white face of a corpse with oozing caverns for eyes would haunt his memories the rest of his life.  
"Darkwing Duck, I was wondering when you'd get here. Pleasure to have you on board." Darkwing jerked back to the present and turned to greet a rather plump-looking goose in an expensive suit and tie. "The sheriff notified me that you were coming. He told everyone to wait until you have a looksie at the place before the guys got started."  
Darkwing had to shake himself a moment before replying. The mallard generously accepted the detective's hand and shook it. "So that's why they're all standing around like buffoons."  
The detective laughed deeply, and patting Darkwing on the back, replied, "Just doing what they do best."  
Darkwing acknowledged the insult as just another reason he had an unspoken reverence for Detective Sherman.  
"So what have you found so far?" Darkwing asked as they stepped further into the house. The detective sighed and rubbed the back of his head. "Just the obvious: The evident weapon of choice was a butcher knife, the gun Muddlefoot held when the neighbors came in-did you know that man had to disarm Herb Muddlefoot?"  
'Yeah,' Darkwing thought wearily. '_I_ am that man.'  
"Yes, that was what I heard. Mallard, right?" Darkwing feigned ignorance.  
"Yeah, Drake Mallard. Said he heard screams and ran over-his teenage daughter was over here with the Muddlefoot boy at the time."  
Darkwing nodded passively, already aware of the story in an all-too-well memory wheel. Detective Sherman removed a hankerchief from his back pocket to saturate the sweat that had accumulated on his brow. "Good thing Mallard came. That girl of his might have been next."  
Darkwing nodded, goosebumps radiating down his back like pinpricks. He was expected to reply, so he merely whispered, "I didn't think Muddlefoot was capable of doing such a thing."  
"Well, if Muddlefoot didn't kill her, whoever did was a damn nutcase, that's for sure. Binkie was raped, beaten, and then bled to death. That poor girl would have been the next victim. Everybody who's had any experience in homicides knows that the females are always the worst off. Dominance of the species."  
Darkwing's heart nearly plummeted to his webbed feet as he walked on, trying despertly not to think what would have happened if he hadn't been home to hear the screams.

Upon entering the kitchen, Darkwing and two officers searched the floor around where Binkie had made her final resting place. The police dusted while Darkwing yanked out his patented microscope and got to work. One officer opened a huge food pantry, and flipped on the light. He immediently backed away, a look of sheer disgust plastered on his face. Darkwing and several others went to the doorway and peered inside, only to find a rather beaten golf club with blood all over the upper half. The shiny steel was dimmed from the crimson. Blood and what appeared to be tissue lined the entire floor. Darkwing backed away from the area, nausiated.  
"It's the rape tool, alright." One officer muttered as he picked the club up and stuffed it in an enormous sterilized bag.  
"Wait." Darkwing held out a stern hand, causing everyone to halt in their tracks. He quickly removed a transparent bag containing the solitary piece of fabric extracted from Binkie's cervix. Removing the piece of fabric with tweezers, he took the club and inspected the handle. "This fabric isn't manufactured in the U.S., and it's fibers-studied under a microscope-are almost five times as thick as that of any leather found here or imported from other countries..." he trailed off as he found a small, almost untracable bare patch on the handle. Taking the fabric on the needle, he ever so gently placed it into the patch where it had once been like a piece into a jigsaw. Perfect match.  
"So what does this mean?" One officer asked as he received the club that was tossed at him by the nausiated crusader.  
"That material on the handle of that club is almost rip-proof. Whoever raped her did it with every ounce of strength, and judging by her fractured hands and feet, whoever did this did it while she was alive." As he said this everyone in the room recoiled, clutching their stomachs. The grueling realism of the scenario hit him hard as he felt the tart, soupy bile bubble up his throat, stinging his tongue. Darkwing barely had time to run through the kitchen door and outside before he threw up.  
Detective Sherman ordered the half-sick officers to continue gathering clues as he also walked outside, hands buried in his pockets. Darkwing had sprinted as far into his own yard as possible, preserving the crime scene. When he had thrown up everything he possibly could, he stumbled back to the Muddlefoot's open door, leaning against the frame and breathing heavily.  
The pudgy detective offered him a clean hankerchief, which the crimefighter accepted gratefully. "Mr. Mallard probably didn't like you spewin' all in his yard." he motioned with his head, his hands still hidden.  
Darkwing wiped his brow and replied, "Trust me, he doesn't mind."  
The detective looked at him momentarily, looking closely with interest. "Darkwing, I don't mean to get personal, but did you have some sort of personal relationship with this woman?" he asked sympathetically as Darkwing stood on legs that resembled a new-born fawn.  
"What do you mean by 'personal relationship'?"  
Detective Sherman held up his hands in defense. "I'm not accusing you of anything, I was just wondering...with the whole interest in this case..you and her weren't..you know.."  
"WHAT?!"  
"Just asking!" The overdressed detective was pelting bullets as he recoiled.  
"Is it a crime to be concerned for the safety of St. Canard?? Isn't that what heroes do?!"  
"Of course. I was just wondering why you were so distraught-you've seen worse than that. Hell, just last month a ten year-old boy was gutted and hung from a flagpole-" Darkwing motioned for him to stop and put a hand over his face.  
"Look, I never knew the woman. I just find it disturbing that whoever did this mutilated her from the inside out. Can you blame me?" He found strength enough to look up at the detective.  
"Of course I don't. I just assumed you or someone and her...well, SOMETHING had to have set Herb Muddlefoot off; what better than to find out his wife was cheating on him?"  
Darkwing shot him a glare then that could freeze the fiery pits of hell over. What an accusation to make! The man didn't even know Binkie! She had been as devoted to Herb as an angel to God. And what right did he have accusing Herb of such a malicious murder?  
"That's a real pretentious assumption, detective."  
"Darkwing, I-" but stopped when he saw Darkwing step off the small concrete step leading into the house, trip, and nearly fall to the ground. Luckily, he caught himself when he realized what he'd nearly fallen on: two blue high-heeled shoes, stamped deep in the mud from the previous night's rain.  
"..her shoes." Detective Sherman marveled as they both dropped to squatting postion outside the suburban home. The mud had dried a little, preserving a huge mass of footprints fossilized all around them. Standing beside the door was a pair of Herb's boots, caked in mud and seeming to snarl like an animal backed into a corner.  
"This has to be where the initial struggle took place." Darkwing perceived as he prodded the buried heels gently. "Well, that explains the broken ankles."  
"And look-" the detective instructed as he pointed a few feet away from them into the grass. Darkwing went and snatched the object from the grass. "Athletic tape."  
Darkwing could feel his stomach churning, with nothing left in it to spew out but feeling aggressive enough to try anyway. Yet before he even had a chance to retaliate from the onset sweep, a lanky officer stepped outside with two evidence bags, directing them at Darkwing. "Look at this."  
Darkwing took the bags and peered into the first. It held a dishtowel saturated in blood. The second held three bloodied molars.  
"Hmm, seems someone's teeth were knocked out."  
"Binkie's?" The officer tried.  
"Not unless the killer momentarily became sympathetic and wiped her mouth, and judging from the damage done here, that's very unlikely." Detective Sherman watched with increasing admiration as the masked mallard, more valuable than any detective known, began to put his analytical thinking to work.  
"So what do you think?" The detective quizzed curiously after a moment. Darkwing handed the bags back to the officer and shot his index finger valiantly into the air. "Go have that blood tested a.s.a.p. Whoever murdered Binkie left their calling card on that dishtowel."  
"What if that isn't the case?" Detective Sherman asked as he loosened his charcoal tie against the morning sun's piercing rays.  
"It very well might not be. All I know is that if it is the case, it's our only shot at proving Herb innocent. His prints may be all over the place, but that can be easily planted. All I know is that there's no report of him having a damaged mouth."  
Detective Sherman raised an eyebrow at him after he said this, ignoring the drops of sweat falling into his eyes. "Since when do you take the side of the number one suspect?"  
Darkwing only looked at him before he walked back into the house. " Since I realized that this insubstantial evidence is leading to the capture of an innocent man and the freedom of a murderer. Innocent until proven guily. Remember that."

_ Copywright Lesley Hall..all characters are Disney's and not used for permission. Please ignore the fact that I embellished a little on Darkwing's coming-to-fame, but eventually people had to recognize him, folks! Please respond and ignore the fact that this chapter was a little slow. I've got to set the stage, so to speak. Please send reviews! Thanks! Oh, and CCR's 'Have You Ever Seen the Rain' is also not mine._  



	5. What is and what should never be

Bad Moon Rising  
Chapter 4  
By  
Lesley Hall  


_And if I say to you tommorrow  
Take my hand, child, come with me.  
It's to a castle I will take you,  
Where what's to be, they say will be._

Catch the wind, see us spin,  
Sail away, leave today, Way up high in the sky.  
But the wind won't blow,  
You really shouldn't go,  
It only goes to show  
That you will be mine  
By takin' our time. Ooh!

And if you say to me tommorrow,  
Oh what fun it all would be,  
Then what's to stop us, pretty baby,  
But what is and what should never be.  


He kept running. His muscles ached and his lungs screamed for air with each raspy breath he took, yet he kept running. Drake usually found comfort in running, ever since he began working out and conditioning himself. Yet today, he just wanted to escape all that had fallen on him in the last 24 hours.  
It was evident that Herb was guilty after the evidence picked up during the house and proper search. Everything had Herb's fingerprints on it, and what didn't belonged to Herb personally. Drake also knew that every cop in that house would have sent Herb barreling straight into the pits of hell. Guilty as charged. Throw away the key.  
The sun was just brightening the city's morning and St. Canard was a bustling metropolis oncemore. Ten miles was already behind him as Drake pounded on, sweat pouring onto his face. Although he was extremely tired, his current physical state was the last thing on his mind.

The rest of the evidence confiscated from the home was rudimentary: traces of blood in evident places and Herb Muddlefoot's fingerprints everywhere. Yet what was found in the living room proved to create question. A large, uneaten pizza and two softdrinks were on the coffee table in front of the couch, and the television was blaring. Drake hadn't bothered to turn the television down when he had run in the night before, his only intention being to secure Gosalyn's safety. Yet now that he had time to think, he realized that the t.v. was deafeningly loud. It was almost as if they had a cozy evening at home planned. He had also run across two plane tickets stuffed in the cookie jar in the kitchen, a place Herb felt Binkie would never go (and judging by her figure, she never indulged in cookies) and he frequented. The two plane tickets had her name and his; two first-class seats to Jamaica. Apparently, it had been a late surprise for their Anniversary.  
Would Herb honestly plan an intimate vacation when he would just in turn murder his wife? A shrewed thinker might plan such an outing to deter anyone from suspecting him of murder, but Herb....Drake just couldn't believe that he was endowed with such capricious cranial energy.  
After what seemed like only a few seconds, Drake rounded the corner of the street and sprinted down Avian way. The wave of nausea from the investigation had subsided, yet the guilt and remorse he witheld was almost as gut-wrenching. He could not recall ever getting sick on a crime scene before, and what had greeted him at the shattered home on Avian way was piffle compared to some of the other atrocities he'd encountered in his life. Of course, he considered, he was never faced with seeing his next door neighbor practically gutted in front of his eyes.

Drake slowed himself when he reached the front door of his home, only then realizing how fatigued he was. Every muscle ached as he struggled to catch his breath. His breath came in raspy sweeps, his abdominal muscles screaming for liberation from his gulps of air.

"Dad." The voice startled him and he nearly went into cardiac arrest.  
"Gos," he breathed, placing a hand on her shoulder as he stumbled into the foyer of their home. She grabbed his arms, a concerned look sweeping across her worn face.  
"Dad, you okay?"  
"Yeah...just...went...for..a..jog.." he managed between exhausted pants.  
"Were you jogging or outrunning a cheetah?" She waited for him to catch his breath enough to stand up. Once he stood upright, he shook himself and sighed.  
"You're not going to school..are you?" he asked curiously as she followed him into the kitchen.  
"No," she decided. "I guess not."  
"You should take a couple days off, Gos. I've already called the school."  
Gosalyn nodded lugubriously as she collapsed in the booth of their breakfast table, her head falling into her hands. Drake studied her a moment, unsure of the problem.  
"Are you okay? You usually don't show your face before noon."  
Gosalyn sighed. "It's Honker. I heard him crying all night. I mean, I want to help him, but what can I do?"  
Drake sighed pityingly as he took a seat next to her. She seemed haggard and sleep-deprived. He put his hand gently on the back of her neck.  
"There's not much you can do, kiddo. The poor guy's been through so much.." Drake then added. "More than any fifteen year-old should have to endure."  
Gosalyn nodded as she snuggled beside him. He wrapped his arms gently around her, cradeling her.  
"You've seemed to have had better nights yourself." He speculated.  
"Yeah, I didn't sleep, either. I tried to go help Honk, but when I knocked on the door, he just went silent." Gosalyn closed her eyes, exhausted.  
"It's been a long night."  
Drake nodded, assenting. He looked down at this daughter, who was attempting to rest against his sweat-soaked shoulder. "Gosalyn, are you sure you didn't see anything that happened last night?"  
Gosalyn groaned a little as she shook her head. "No, all I saw was what you saw when you came in."  
"No shadowey figures lurking outside? No unsettling noises of any kind?"  
"Dad, quit interrogating me, alright? I'm sure I'll be getting plenty of that by the time this is over." She abruptly jumped up as she said this and pushed past him, heading for the kitchen door.  
"Gos, wait-" Drake pleaded as he stood to his feet. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I know you've gone through a lot. I just want this solved. I'm worried that there's a murderer out there, with the potential to come back."  
Gosalyn didn't reply for a moment, but leaned against the door frame in her Led Zeppelin tee-shirt and shorts, rubbing her eyes.  
"Okay, all I know is that we were listening to music really loud. We didn't hear the screams until the song went off. Then we heard her scream and when we got downstairs and to the kitchen, Mr. Herb was over Mrs. Binkie with his hands on her neck..." her voice began to falter a little as she continued. "....and blood's gushing out of every part of her, and Honker's just standing there, choking on his own breath as his mother dies in front of his eyes." Tears began to run down her face as Drake went to her and took her in his arms.  
"Shh, it's okay, it's okay.." he cooed as she clung to him, whimpering.  
"I just feel so bad for him, dad. I mean, I know I lost my birth parents and grandpa in a similar way, but I can't really relate, because I don't know what it's like losing someone I care about more than anything." She squeezed him to almost to the point of knocking his breath out, and it was then that he realized she was referring to him. He smiled at her, his feeling for her was mutual.  
"Gos, you don't know how scared I was when I heard those screams. If something ever happened to you-" the thought of his daughter being in the same predicament as Binkie sent a pain searing through his heart like a hot arrow piercing raw flesh. He suddenly realized how much empathy he shared for Herb. Did Herb really love Binkie as much as Drake loves his daughter? No, Drake thought wearily. No one is capable of loving someone more than he loved Gos. It was one of the few things that can be labeled impossible in this world.

They stood in the kitchen doorway, both teary-eyed and hugging. Eventually they both realized that their weaknesses were exposed and they composed themselves.  
"Wow, dad-" Gosalyn smiled as she wiped her face on her shirt. "I've hardly ever seen you this sensitive."  
Drake also wiped his eyes and cleared his throat. "Well, as anomalous as my attitude may be, I must find the answer to so many relevant questions pertaining to the effective closure of this case."  
Gosalyn looked at him, jaw agape. He smiled and re-stated his sentence. "Anything else you may have seen or heard?"  
Gosalyn thought for a moment and shrugged. "Not really. But I do want to ask you for a favor."  
Drake was curious. "And what may that be?"  
"Will you go talk with Honker? He needs someone to talk to, despertly." She watched as her father looked dubious.  
"Please?" She pleaded.  
"Gos, why do you think he'd talk to me over you? You two have been practically joined at the hip since you met." He walked over and got a glass of water from the kitchen sink, only to engulf it almost as quickly as it hit the glass.  
"He looks up to you, though-" Gosalyn whimpered as she grabbed his arm. "Pppplllleeeeaaaasssseee???"  
It took only a mere glance at her patented pouty-beak for him to falter. "All right! All right. I just don't know what good it'll do, but I'll do it."  
Elated, Gosalyn hugged him fiercly and kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks, dad."  
"No problem."  
She released him and turned to walk out of the kitchen, unconciously running her fingers through her short, red hair. "Oh, and one more thing?" she asked as he was in step to depart from the kitchen.  
"What now?"  
"Take a shower, pop. You smell like a gym sock." She grinned as she walked out of the room. He looked down at his sweat-drenched body and sighed.

************************************* 

Freshly showered, cologned, and in a gray tee-shirt and loose jeans, Drake took a deep breath for good measure and knocked gently on the guest-bedroom door. He was left standing for a moment to speculate and somewhat marvel at how the wood-grain of the door diffused into every shape your mind could fathom. Yet after minutes left alone, Drake's eyes began to ache and he opened the door slightly.  
What greeted his eyes was nothing but darkness, the kind that wraps itself around around you, smothering you. It suddenly came to him that there was a contingent chance that Honker may have, in the devastation of things, taken his own life.  
"Honker!!" More alarm than intended erupted out of Drake's throat as he flipped on the bedroom light. Honker was lying on the bed, flashlight in hand. He squinted at him as the light flashed on, his eyes adjusting. He gave Drake a curious look and said nothing.  
"Oh, you're all right." Drake sighed, greatly relieved.  
"All right?" Honker quizzed, an eyebrow raised. Drake was still leaning against the door frame with a hand on his heart, enjoying the relief that was flooding vigorously throughout his body.  
"I, uh, thought, um..." he cleared his throat. "Can I come in?"  
Honker nodded and sat up as Drake walked over to the bed. The poor boy was in nothing but wrinkled tee-shirt and jeans, with an acne-studded face and glasses that looked as thick as the bottom of a shot glass. Tears stained his face, and Drake could feel that feeling of regret swelter up from the pits of his stomach.  
Drake sat beside him, wondering idily how any conversation between the two could possibly alleviate the predominant pain and suffering that Honker must be experiencing.  
"So, what are you doing? Just..sitting in the dark?"  
Honker shook his head weakly. "Just looking and thinking."  
Drake looked at him closely. "Looking?"  
Honker nodded and a group of photographs appeared in his hand. Drake knew without a glance who they were of.   
"Oh, pictures. You were looking at them with a flashlight?" Drake found the action very odd as Honker handed him the photographs.  
"Well, the darkness is a fortress, sometimes. Many people find the dark unsettling and virulent, yet I find it a place of solace. You can relate?"  
Drake swallowed hard and forced a smile. "Sure. Darkwing Duck thrives in the dark."  
He began looking through the photographs in his hand to mask his concern for the boy. Honker also gazed at the pictures, and stopped him on one. Binkie was the main focus of the picture, yet her face wasn't towards the camera, but looking down admirably at a little boy's face. A boy with thick-lensed glasses.  
"This is when I won my first award for a science project." Honker whispered, gazing at the picture. They both remained silent for a moment before Honker added, "She was always so proud of me. She always told me I obtained my intelligence from her side of the family. I guess she was the only one who realized what I achieved. Dad never took notice, and Tank just didn't care."  
He studied the picture intensely. "Do you think my mother was pretty, Mr. Mallard?"  
Drake was jolted by the boy's inquisition, and it took him a moment to reply. "Uh, yes, yes I do. Your mom was a very pretty woman. Very..feminine."  
He continued sifting through the photographs, all mainly of Binkie with others standing arbitrarily by.  
He ran across one that deserved a closer look, of Binkie and Herb, cheek to cheek. Both were smiling benevolently at the camera, their expressions both proclaiming a perpetual bond of love for one another. The next photograph held a similar pose, yet a now teenage Honker had preempted Herb and Binkie was giving him a hearty kiss on the cheek. Honker spoke up as they gazed at the picture.  
"Such a great mom." He said, his voice cracking as his turmoil seemed to be unleashed by the unsullied look of his mother. She looked like the most contented person on the face of this earth, one who shrugged tragedy off with a smile and a batch of chocolate chip cookies.  
Drake looked over to see Honker crying as he said, "I wish she would have known that having me would bring her demise." He erupted into full blown tears then, and Drake took him in his arms.  
"Honker, kiddo, what makes you think that _you're_ responsible for your mom's death?"  
Honker wept into his shirt and muttered, "A couple hours before her death we had a fight, a...a..a..." he began to stutter uncontrollably and Drake struggled to calm him, rocking him gently. "Shh, it's okay. It's okay.." Drake cooed as Honker leaned on him, wracking in shakes.  
It took Drake a moment to calm him down enough to continue, and when he did it took all he had to get the words out smoothly. "...and she told me I'd be the death of her. _Me_!"  
Drake could feel Honker almost in a seizure as he wept against his chest.  
"God, Honker." Drake muttered in bewilderment. Why would Binkie ever say a thing like that?  
"Honker, listen to me. Your mother loved you more than anything on this earth, okay? She never stopped talking about you. You were her pride and joy, and if anything, you made her life fulfilled. Because without you, she would have nothing."  
"B..but she was always worrying about me..always thinking about me rather than herself. If she'd been concerned with herself, then maybe..oh, just maybe-"  
He couldn't finish his thoughts and returned to his destroyed mental state. Drake held him as tightly as he could, cooing to him as he did. "Honker, she couldn't have you and just worry about herself. She couldn't if she tried." But he stopped when all he was doing was causing Honker to weep harder. Eventually, Honker cried himself into a state of half-sleep, and Drake got him in bed and under the covers before Honker had a chance to wake up.  
Feeling more exhausted than ever, Drake took the pictures only to momentarily gaze at the one of Herb and Binkie. 'Til death to us part.' He thought, suddenly becoming nauseous and finding relief only when the pictures were discarded in a drawer.

******************************* 

The interrogations lasted all afternoon as everyone involved was brought into separate rooms and asked all similar questions:  
"What did you see?" (Stated everything)  
"Were there disagreements between Herb and Binkie?" (No)  
"Any sort of domestic violence?" (No)  
"Any odd behavior within the family?" (No)  
"Any sexual or domestic abuse?" ( Drake looked at the officer contentiously. "Are you kidding?" He replied. "I'm shocked Herb even knows what sex consists of!")  
"Any infedelity?" (Another contentious look from Drake)  
The rest was mainly about the athletic tape being borrowed and a collective pat on the back for apprehending and disarming Herb. Once Drake's interrogation was over, he changed, became Darkwing Duck, and returned to hear the results of the questioning.  
"Well," a rather chubby officer began. "All were asked about the same things, and all answered about the same. Yet, something odd caught Detective Larry's eye about the older son."  
"Tank?"  
"Yes, Tank." The officer removed a powdered donut from a donut box and offered Darkwing one, who immediately declined. The officer shook his head at these crazy health nuts, and continued.  
"Yes, well, the younger son-"  
"Honker." Darkwing interjected.  
"Yeah, and Mallard-"  
"Drake."  
"Okay. And his kid-"  
"Gosalyn."  
"Right, and that tall, sexy dame-"  
"Morgana!" Darkwing snapped and looked at the officer in the 'don't-even-think-about-it' look that made the man nearly piss himself.  
"Yes, er...Ms. McCawber, all looked so sad and blubbery as they answered that it nearly tore your heart out."  
"Yeah, so what did you expect?" Darkwing growled, not enjoying the pudgy officer's disrespect towards Morgana.  
"Well, we expected Tank to show some emotion-" the officer muttered, seizing another donut from the white cardboard box. Darkwing raised an eyebrow at him. "You mean he showed no intimation of being upset?"  
The police officer merely shook his head, thoroughly enjoying the giant pastery he was currently consuming.  
"Nope. Just mainly told us he walked in a little after everyone else. Saw his dad with his hands around Mrs. Muddlefoot's throat, screaming."  
"He was there before Dr-Uh, Mr. Mallard came."  
Darkwing stated more than questioned.  
The cop's voracious appetite took first priority and caused his to lose focus. " Huh? Oh, yeah. Mallard and McCawber both said he was there when they showed. McCawber also said Tank looked quite peaceful, almost content. Kid's got major issues." The officer gave Darkwing a folder of files and papers per request by the chief of police, and turned to leave, allowing the masked avenger to be alone in his thoughts of what had occured. Why hadn't he noticed the severity of Tank's attitude? Well, anyone could be less vigilant when their first priority is to get their child out of immenent danger. Yet, why was Tank so non-chalant?  
"Tank may be only a bystander, but this repulsive reprobate has something hidden from the rest of us. This definately deserves further investigation." Darkwing took the file containing Herb Muddlefoot's records and notes from the crime scene as well as the interrogations and locked them securely under his arm as he headed towards the exit.

********************************* 

Darkwing was barely able to make if off of the Ratcatcher before he noticed Gosalyn and Launchpad standing in the center of the tower, Lp oblivious to anything that had occured in the last 24 hours.  
"Hey, Dw!" Launchpad waved as Darkwing slid down the ladder from the gargantuan cable holding the Ratcatcher. Darkwing smiled in a cheeful pretense, masking the dreadful news he was about to deliver. Binkie and Launchpad had always been close, both were very sweet and extremely easy to get along with. The two had hit it off when they first met, both sharing a common interest: Binkie loved to cook and Launchpad loved to eat. They were inseperable.  
"Hey, Lp." Darkwing came up to shake his hand, only to be overcome by a fierce hug.  
"Oh, I missed you guys so much!!" Launchpad cried as he picked both Darkwing and Gosalyn up in one sweep and squeezed them nearly to death.  
"L..p...my..spine..." Darkwing coughed and Launchpad immediately set them on their feet.  
"Uh, sorry Dw..Heh, heh."  
Darkwing merely smiled as his lungs gasped for air.  
"It's great to have you back, Launchpad!" Gosalyn said as she took the liberty to hug him. He returned the hug-gentler this time- and smiled. "Great to be back."  
"How are things in Duckberg?" Darkwing asked as he leaned against the Thunderquack, a cold sweat breaking out over his body as Launchpad merrily told of his experiences over the span of the last couple of days. As he talked, Darkwing glanced over at Gosalyn, who also seemed to look quite pale, noting the inevitable and dreading it as much as he did.  
"...and so, after Fenton fell through the skylight and we took him to the hospital for stitches, I bid them farewell and came back."  
"Nice drive back?" Darkwing asked, enjoying Launchpad's satisfied complacency. Gosalyn shot Darkwing a glare, mentally prodding him to revelate the news and stop wasting time with small talk. He read this in her look and took a hard swallow.  
"Oh, it's a pretty day, perfect weather. I was tempted to stop at a diner on the way over, but I just knew Binkie had something tastey cooked. She said she'd fix dinner for me when I came home, so I'll probably head over there next."  
Darkwing smiled weakly as Launchpad picked up his suitcase. Gosalyn must have forced him here before he could have seen the barricade of police tape at the Muddlefoot's home.  
"Oh, that's...nice." Darkwing stammered, a lump gathering in his throat and nearly choking him.  
Launchpad smiled his innocent smile and began towards the spinning chairs. "So you guys coming to eat at the Muddlefoot's?"  
Gosalyn's hair stood on end when she realized Launchpad was en route to go next door, and she jerked Darkwing by the cape.  
"Tell him!" she hissed, and when Darkwing merely pulled the neckline of his teal turtle-neck away from his body, Gosalyn yelled, "Launchpad! We've got something to tell you."  
Dread wracked Darkwing's body as he nodded in agreement, a look of guilt and utter repulsion in his eyes. "Yeah, pal. We've got something big to tell you."  
Launchpad looked up at them, his expression of excitement furrowing into that of worry once he saw their morbid looks. Concerned, Launchpad dropped his bags and hurried up to them.  
"Guys, what's the matter? Is ev- are you two-"  
Darkwing calmed him by placing a hand on his arm.  
"No, Lp. Gos and I are just fine."  
"Honker..the Muddlefoot's?" Launchpad immediately yelped, going down the line of importance in his book.  
"Well, Honker's physically okay....Launchpad. There was a murder in the neighborhood last night. Binkie was killed." Darkwing stated it as calm and civil as he could, hoping in vain to assuage Launchpad's subsequent emotions.  
Yet all Launchpad did was gawk.  
Gosalyn and Darkwing exchanged worried glances and the red-head took a step forward. "Launchpad, you okay?"  
Launchpad's face became stoic, like a corpse that died after a fear-induced heart attack. He began to murmer something uncomprehending and collapsed into a chair.  
"I think he's going into shock!" Gosalyn yelped as she and Darkwing rushed to his side. Launchpad shook himself of his daze and looked at them, tears threatening his eyes.  
"I...I can't believe it." He murmered. "How'd she die?"  
Darkwing swallowed hard. "Loss of blood. Someone cut her throat." He decided to leave out the entire object-rape scenario; Launchpad had more than enough on his plate, already.  
Launchpad's face went into his hands as tears silently fell, spotting the gray floors of the tower.  
'It still hasn't hit him.' Darkwing thought uneasily, and knew exactly what he had to do.

Darkwing brought Launchpad to the Muddlefoot's once charming suburban-type home, and explained everything that had happened, and even ran through what he himself had seen. Yet it didn't fully take effect on Launchpad until the coroner showed him Binkie's body. He only had to expose her face- with her beautiful blue eyes now glassy and lifeless-for Launchpad to completely break down. Darkwing allowed him a shoulder to cry on, and once he was able to collect his friend, sent him out to the Ratcatcher.  
"Why did you show him all of this when you knew it would hurt him that badly?" Dr. Phil asked, more curious than concerned.  
"Because," Darkwing sighed, returning the white sheet to it's rightful place over Binkie's head. "He wouldn't have been satisfied to have seen any less. He needed this."

_ Copywright Lesley Hall 3/28/04. Darkwing, Morgana, Launchpad, the Muddlefoots', and all other characters are copywright Disney and used without permission and for entertainment purposes and non-profit. PLEASE RESPOND!!!!!! I'm dying to hear what everyone thinks!!! The beginning lyrics are to Led Zeppelin's "What is and what should never be." Which, obviously, are not mine. I must share this with you: music is the key to all writing. Remember that._


	6. The Funeral

Bad Moon Rising: Chapter 5  
By  
Lesley Hall  


_So let me wake from this nightmare  
This is so wrong  
Now when you're gone  
What should I do but shed my tears  
All night long  
This should not have happened  
Not this soon  
I can not be whole without you  
You know_

This is your funeral  
It's at its last sheds of tears  
So now when I'll make my mistakes  
Where will you be?  
But in my dreams  
You were gone before I called  
Gone before I tried  
Before I realized  


The funeral was the following day, and proved to be one of the more oblique and utterly macabre times of Drake Mallard's life.  
Dressed in a full suit and tie, he drove Gosalyn, Honker, Launchpad, and Morgana all to the funeral home. The whole fifteen minutes it took seemed plagued in a thick, cumbering silence that loomed on forever.  
Drake walked along with three other men as an usher required to carry the casket; two of the guys, he realized, were Binkie's cousins and the third, an eighteen year-old guy, was someone he couldn't quite put his finger on as to where he stood in the family tree.  
The church was clearly over capacity as people literally piled onto one another to allow room for the casket to come through. Drake was on the front left-hand side and used all the strength he could muster to grip the casket as he involuntarily brushed shoulders with people struggeling to keep clear of the men and their precious cargo.  
The service went as well as any funeral could, yet the air of the funeral home chokingly thick as it impendingly floated above. Drake and his family sat just behind the front pew, where the immediate family took their place. Honker stayed back with Gosalyn, their hands locked tenaciously together.  
The priest began with Binkie's birth, her life, growing up in St.Canard with two brothers and a single mother. Graduating high-school, so on and so forth. One of Binkie's brothers, a heavy-set goose with glasses, stood at the podium and told a humerous tale of Binkie when she was young. The crowd forced a laugh, most it caused to cry even harder. The other brother came up- a thinner goose about Drake's height-and talked a little and read a poem he had written for his "baby sister." Anyone with a soul would have cried, and as Honker leaned against the inconsolible Launchpad for support, Gosalyn took a hankerchief and wiped the tears falling from her father's eyes.  
He looked over at her, drew her close and kissed her lovingly on the forehead.  
The service was abruptly halted when a police officer walked in and towards the balding priest, trying his hardest to seem unphased at the sea of eyes staring him down. He leaned over and whispered something in the priest's ear, they exchanged uncomfortable glances and the priest came to the microphone.  
"Please forgive me for interrupting this funeral mass, but I have just been informed that Herb Muddlefoot is here, and would like to say a few words. Now under the,um, circumstances, Herb will be handcuffed, so please do not be alarmed."  
The priest nodded to the officer as he stepped down and away from the podium, allowing ample room for the entry. A hushed silence swept over the church as Herb appeared, handcuffed in front and clothed in a jailer's orange jumpsuit. Police officers escorted him on both sides as they led Herb up to the podium. He took one glance at Binkie's casket and had to grip the stand for support.  
Everyone looked shocked, bewildered, even belligerent. Angry faces were the easiest to read, despite the red eyes and the tears running forcefully down. Gosalyn looked up at the pew ahead of her to see Herb's mother gripping the arm rest with what strength she still had. Gosalyn then turned to her father, who had Morgana's hand in his left, her hand in his right, and his expression seemingly unsurprised.  
"You did this, didn't you?" Gosalyn whispered to him. He looked over at her and whispered back, "I talked the chief into giving him the option."  
Gosalyn looked at him a moment, her brow furrowed in perplexion. The black-strapped, knee-length dress with a black open sweater she wore was finally losing it's edge on getting on her nerves.  
"You think he's innocent, don't you?" She whispered, realizing the reason for her father's anomalous request. He simply looked at her, his blue eyes sparkling with life.  
Herb took a deep breath at the podium, his heart racing. He had no speech prepared for this, simply because one can never fully prepare oneself for something like this.  
Never.  
As he stepped forward, he sat his bound hands onto the podium. A shrill noise instantly erupted from the speakers, and everyone shielded their ears until Herb dropped his hands and the teeth-gritting noise ceased. Everyone in the church immediately began murmering heatedly, conversing amongst themselves. Drake growled low and had to restrain himself from standing and yelling at everyone to shut the hell up and let the man speak.

"Please-" Herb pleaded at the crowd as he stood, alone, on the elevated alter of the looming church. The crowd immediately began to quiet, most still defiant and crossing their arms.  
"Please..I..I know what you all must think of me, now. Me standin' up here all cuffed up. I was accused of something I honestly didn't do-" He was cut off as the church erupted into argumentative screams and incredulous tones. One guy standing behind Drake decided to yell "bull shit!" in which Drake turned and glowered at him, "Keep your opinions to yourself."  
"Oh, and what exactly are you going to do about it if I don't-" he didn't have time to finish before Drake had his arm twisted and the bastard was wilting on the floor.  
"Want to say it again, asshole? I'd love to show you what I'm capable of."  
The man uttered a pain-wracked 'no' as Drake gave his arm one last jerk for good measure before shoving him loose.  
"Now be a nice man and act civilized, hmm?"  
The man was holding his arm protectively, and did nothing but nod. Drake turned back around, making sure to keep his voice loud enough for the man to hear. "Stupid son of a bitch."  
Morgana and Gosalyn both stared at him in disbelief, their mouths open. He acknowledged Honker's look of gratitude.  
The police officers present calmed the crowd enough for Herb to continue, in which he was more frazzled than ever.  
"I know now what you all think. Yet, I am not up here to change your minds. I am up here to say..." he looked down longingly at the glistening casket that held the body of his wife.  
"I loved that woman. Loved her more than all the bowlin' trophies n' Pelican's Island episodes put together. She was my life. Mother of my kids." He stopped to wipe the tears from his eyes, his sniffling amplified by the microphone.  
"She was my everything. I'd never do a thing to hurt her, not one thing." He couldn't hold back any longer and the tears fell freely, splotching his prisoner's garb.  
"But it doesn't matter, now. Doesn't matter what any of you's thinks. I know the truth, and so does Binkie. And if you cared one bit for us at all, you'd know the truth, too."  
He backed away from the podium so his hands could go freely to his face. Running his hands across the casket's smooth surface, shimmering in the noon-day sun coming from the stained glass windows, he knelt and placed a kiss on the casket's top.  
"I love you, Binkums. I will always love ya." With that said, he was allowed to once again be taken away, leaving a crowded room so silent one could easily hear the 'clank, clank' from his handcuffs as he walked.

The drive home was once again blanketed in a depressing silence, the sunny day had abruptly given way for a harsh storm.  
During the drive out to the cemetary, the sky had clouded over and immediately began to storm, rain falling in enormous drops as thunder boomed ominously overhead. Now, as they pulled up into the driveway, the rain had dissipated and the sun was struggeling to once again show.  
"Stupid weather." Drake grumbled as everyone except himself and Morgana exited the vehicle and sloshed up into the house. Everyone was drenched, and Drake's feather's produced a shaggy-style hairdo under the weight of the water. Morgana looked over at him from the passenger's seat and giggled.  
"What's so funny?"  
"Your head."  
He flipped down his visor to inspect himself. "Wow," he murmered as Morgana took his hand in hers. "It looks like how I wore it in high school."  
Morgana's hair had also fallen from it's bob and hung loosely around her shoulders.  
"You cut your hair." Drake speculated as he ran his fingers delicately through it. It used to hang to the middle of her back when down, now it dangled elegantly just below her shoulders.  
"Yeah. I think I'll start wearing my hair down more." She looked over at him. "What do you think?"  
Drake smiled as he leaned in to kiss her. "I think you're beautiful either way." She smiled at him and gazed into his baby blues, so powerful and full of life.  
She gave him a saddened look and he leaned in and held her gently, wrapping his arms around her and enveloping her in his delicious cologne. He wanted so despertly to leave this mess all behind; whisk away to a faraway land and forget that Herb or Binkie Muddlefoot ever existed. Sadly, he knew he couldn't. As much as he wanted to deny ever having any interest in the two, he was overcome with sympathy for Herb, and remorse for Binkie.  
Obviously Morgana was thinking the same thing, and murmered as she rested her head on her lover's chest, "I feel so terrible. It's like walking around in a war-zone after a nuclear blast. Just so depressing."  
Drake nodded, kissing her gently atop her head.  
"I guess you'll be concentrating on the case for awhile." She said disspiritedly as she sat back up in her seat. Drake sighed and looked over at her.  
"I guess so."  
"I won't see you for awhile, will I?" She looked over at him, her features were lifeless. He shook his head.  
"No, Morg, I promise we'll see each other this time-no more months spent on cases." He couldn't help but to touch her and reached forth and took her hand.  
"You sure?" She asked, dubious.  
"Positive." He assured her. Leaning into her, their eyes locked and he whispered. "I can't be away from you that long."  
They kissed oncemore before going into the house, a kiss that signified love more than passion. It was going to be difficult for Darkwing to tear himself from his crimefighting long enough to see her, but she knew he'd do it. He was good about keeping his promises, just as he would on finding Binkie's notorious murderer.  
Yet as they walked into his home, she felt a twinge of fear springing up her spine. She knew he'd find the killer. That was certain.  
But what's going to happen when he does?

****************************** 

"Dad! Honk's grandma called. She wants to stop by." Gosalyn said as Drake and Morgana entered the house. Gosalyn looked at them both curiously and added, "Why'd it take so long for you guys to come inside?"  
"I...uh...we..." Drake trailed off.  
"Uh..contacts! Yeah, I lost a contact lens. Darn things." Morgana rubbed her eye for support.  
"You wear contacts?" The redhead asked, incredulous.  
"Yes-"  
"Since when?"  
"Gos, do you have to be so nosey?" Drake scolded, simotaneously changing the subject as he shook his head in a dog-like fashion to remove the water. Gosalyn didn't reply, but sighed ostentasiously.  
"Anyway, I'm going to the tower." Drake announced as he removed his rain-dampened suit jacket from around his body, his hair still frazzled.  
"Dad, what about Honker's grandma?"  
"So? Invite her in and Honk can-"  
"She wants to talk to you."  
Drake looked at her a moment before his thoughts were interrupted by a familiar chime. Gosalyn bolted to the front door, opening it to find an elderly lady-Drake deduced to be about 70-hobble in with the aid of a walker. Taking no time to introduce herself, she closed the door and lowered her umbrella.  
"Drake Mallard." She croaked sternly, like a battering school teacher that induces fear as she snaps your hand with a ruler.  
The woman looked about with muddy eyes as she stood hunched over her rather large frame.  
"Yes, I am he-" he was cut off as she raised a knarled finger to silence him.  
"Young man, I need to speak with you."

Drake and Mrs. Eliza Muddlefoot sat at the breakfast booth in the dimly lit kitchen as she explained to him her intentions of barging into their home as she did. Yet first, she told him she needed some brew.  
Still dressed in a white shirt and tie, Drake placed a steamy cup of black coffee into her feeble hands before he poured his own and took a seat across from her. A shaky hand supplied her body with the heated fluid as Mrs. Muddlefoot sighed, content.  
"Mr. Mallard, I apologise for my interrupting your day, but I'm in dire need to know-" she trailed off and Drake looked at her closely.  
"Know?"  
"Your thoughts on my boy's wife, and this whole murder business."  
Drake took a sip of his coffee and leaned back, suddenly feeling too warm for comfort. He loosened his tie from around his neck, allowing it to drape over his shoulders as he unbuttoned the top three buttons on his collared shirt. "You're curious of my opinion?"  
"Well, you are one of Herb's good friends, aren't you? Both my son and daughter-in-law talked of you all the time."  
'Herb's concept of a friend must be a vague one.' Drake thought, remembering all of the rather egregious attempts he made to deter and detach himself from their mindless lifestyles. "Well, we do live next door to one another, and my daughter and Honker are best friends. I, uh, guess..." his torpid speech did nothing but annoy the older mother as she sighed impatiently.  
"You heard what I said." she snapped.  
"What?" He was taken aback by her hatefulness. Did this woman really birth the happy-go-lucky Herb Muddlefoot he knew and hated so well?  
"Young man, I am not senile. I've seen it all and done it all. I had Herb when I was almost 37. I am not a naive spring chicken that you can finaggle with your intellect. Now you tell me, were you or were you not good friends with my son?" Her interrogating skills proved to be as solid as her patience as she removed a flask from her floral dress top and poured the brown liquid into the cup of half drank coffee. Drake looked at her, shocked.  
"Drinking?"  
"Get over it." She muttered as she took a long sip from the cup.  
"Whisky before noon...how old are you again?"  
"I can still out-last your shrimpy ass in the sack, that's for sure." She snapped venemously.  
Drake, shocked beyond words (and realizing that Herb didn't get his genetics from her side of the family) couldn't help but smile as he leaned closer over the table. "_You're_ Herb's biological mother?"  
"Enough questions. Tell me how close you and my boy are."  
Drake sighed and leaned back. What to say? Well, he didn't make attempts to be around the guy, yet he knew a lot about Herb and his lifestyle. Most of the knowledge was acquired while attempting to get rid of him. Drake wondered idily how much Quackerware crap he owned. Surely enough to own stock in the damn company.  
"We're friends." Drake replied, deciding to take a simpler route.  
"Good friends?"  
Drake shrugged. "Sure."  
Mrs. Muddlefoot nodded, ironically satisfied with what he had said. Glancing momentarily at the coffee cup, she brought it to her lips yet thought against it. Instead, she removed the whiskey flask from her brassire and drank straight from it.  
"Well, I'm going to get right to the point, Mr. Mallard. I know what you saw. I also know that Herb is currently being held for his only wife's murder. Do you have any idea how I feel?" She looked over at Drake for an answer, her calloused eyes clearing into a pain-wracked gaze. Drake didn't reply. He honestly didn't know.  
"I don't." He admitted. The old woman took another drink of her whiskey, her eyes watering as the fiery liquid slid down her throat.  
"Feels like shit. Simple as that. Everyone's pointing the finger at my son, without even knowing him. Can I smoke?" She asked as she withdrew a plastic bag from her purse. Drake didn't usually condone smoking in his home, yet he was willing to make an exception considering the circumstances. That is, until he saw what she held in her hand.  
"Marijuana?" Drake croaked in dis-belief.  
"It's for medicinal purposes, trust me." She said as she held the joint between her lips. Drake shook himself from his daze and snatched the thing from her mouth.  
"Yeah, right! Look, I've got a _very_ impressionable fifteen year-old daughter. I do NOT want her influenced to smoke an illegal narcotic because she saw a little old lady do it!"  
He kept the joint from her reach, and looking annoyed, she rapped her nails on the table and said, "Well, give it back."  
"No!"  
"Come on, I need it."  
"You'll go to jail, don't think you won't."  
Mrs. Muddlefoot growled, exasperated. "Oh this is ridic--So I smoke a little pot here and there? Is that such a crime?"  
Drake looked at her, astonished. "Uh, yeah. Is the term 'illegal' a foreign concept to you?" He replied with obvious mockery thick in his voice.  
She sighed as she collapsed her face into her hands. "Okay, okay. I'll go. Leave you be with your family. I just want to ask, to fulfill my entire journey into your home and within too little feet of my son's home, where he raised my grandbabies. I want to know if you think he's guilty of the crime he's accused of." She looked back up at him and it was then he noticed just how much she resembled Herb. Looking down at his hands and then back into her eyes, encassed with wrinkles of age, he replied solemnly, "I think there's more to this case than what meets the eye."  
Unsatisfied, Mrs. Muddlefoot took his hand and grasped it, her grip surprisingly tight and stern. "Please give me a straight-forward answer. Yes, or no. Tell me I'm not alone." Her eyes pleaded him to tell her exactly what he felt, and taking the marijuana cigarette and placing into her palm, he gave her a revered response.  
"No. I do not believe Herb Muddlefoot killed her."  
That was all she needed, and she soon left.

This chapter and story is copywright Lesley H. 4/11/04 (Happy Easter, everybody!). The song above..I really do not know who sang it but it's not mine, just like all of the Disney-based characters I used. Now, Herb's mom was created by me, but if Disney wants her, they can go on with their bad selves. Anyway, thanks for the reviews. Keep 'em coming!!! I bet you didn't think that Herb's mom would be like that, huh?? :) 


	7. Stairway to Heaven

**

Bad Moon Rising: Chapter 6  
By  
Lesley Hall  


**

_There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold  
And she's buying a stairway to heaven.  
When she gets there she knows, if the stores are all closed  
With a word she can get what she came for.  
Ooh, ooh, and she's buying the stairway to heaven._

And as we wind on down the road  
Our shadows taller than our souls.  
There walks a lady we all know  
Who shines white light and wants to show  
How everything still turns to gold.  
And if you listen very hard  
The truth will come to you at last.  
When all are one and one is all  
To be a rock and not to roll.

And she's buying a stairway to heaven.  


The lone figure sat, motionlessly as the sun fell slowly behind the ocean's horizon, the deep red ball seeming to float needlessly on the expansive waters. The skies above his head were clouding, yet the deep red, purple, and orange still blazed across the sky in a powerful sweep of color.  
The masked mallard sat, eyes wandering idily about. He looked first to the city at his right, then back to the perpetual ocean that seemed to pour from Audobon Bay. Several sea gulls sailed below his feet as the tide came in, crashing mercilessly against the stone supporters of the bridge.  
Time was slipping. He knew that. Yet he was completely unsure of where to turn. His mind-the one thing that had proven to keep him alive despite all that he'd endured in life- was failing him. If the truth be told, his heart seemed to ring out his mind's desperate attempts to enlighten him. His inner battle was driving him crazy.  
"Okay, so what if I surrender and believe that Herb killed Binkie? What would happen then?" His eyes were strained behind their deep purple captors as Darkwing swallowed hard. Since the incident had occured, he was deeply sure of Herb's innocence, yet the evidence proved otherwise. A call from the forensic analysis' concluded that the blood and teeth found on the scene _were_ Herb's afterall, that in the commotion, Binkie had kicked him in the mouth. Obviously it was accidental; a spurred reflex in the heat of the battle. Yet was it unconsciously done as Herb was trying to help Binkie remain conscious, or was she trying to get away?  
Herb had told police that he had had the gun in his hand to fend off whoever was attacking his wife, yet the interrogation detectives shrugged it off as a cover-up.  
A cover up. They actually believed Herb-who has the mental intellect of mayonnaise- could be capable of 'covering up' something.  
Darkwing sighed discomfortingly and the wind gusted against his gray fedora. He just couldn't bring himself to believe that Herb was guilty. If he admitted to it, and the man was sentenced for life, there would be no peace for him. If Herb _did_ kill his wife, then he deserved whatever punishment he got. Yet, if he didn't, Darkwing knew that he was the man's only hope for justice.  
Feeling more drained than ever, Darkwing climbed to his feet and made his way to his bike, knowing that whatever answer came, he would have to find it. Obviously, the truth was not going to come with happy regard.

Turning down a side street, Darkwing sped the motorcycle against the black pavement. His mind was whirling in circles, and he would have missed his turn off of the freeway had the thick, cumbersome clouds decided not to clap thunder across the darkened sky. Darkwing looked up as the sound rang against his helmet, and growled. "Of course, Murphy's law that anything that can go wrong will go wrong remains intact." He said with disdain as rain began pelting against his body. He was in half-decision to call it a night and return home when the shrill ring of his cell phone cried over the tempered storm.  
Stopping the Ratcatcher, he reached into his purple double-breasted jacket, beyond his gas gun, and retrieved a small, metallic flip-phone. Very few people knew the number, so he immdediately expected one of three people.  
"Hello?"  
"Dad!" Another clap of thunder crashed against the impending clouds as rain fell harder.  
"Yes?" The storm was scrambling the phone, and who was evidently Gosalyn was barely audible.  
"Dad! Herb Muddlefoot just escaped from prison!" Despite the interference, he could hear the panic in her voice.  
"He WHAT?!" Darkwing was shocked at the news as he checked his mobile computer/ communicator the police used to call him, which...was also not working.  
"Dad, I know you think he's innocent and all, but the lights are out in the house and Launchpad's missing-" her voice blurred into static and rain attacked the earth in an onslaught of missles.  
"Stay calm, Gos, the lights are out from the storm and Lp's-"  
"Dad, we're the only house with no power on the block! The neighbors all have power! Launchpad's in this house somewhere and we can't find him! I'm scared, dad!"  
Darkwing's heart skipped a beat when he realized the amount of danger Gosalyn was in.  
"Gosalyn, listen. Lock all of the doors, I'm on my way-"  
"WHAT?!" She screamed in an attempt to rectify her father's words.  
"Gos! I-" The phone went dead.  
With his sixth sense forecasting doom, Darkwing sped off into the stormy night towards his home on Avian way. Where he was currently located, it would be much quicker to drive to his house than to go to the tower.  
Driving intrepidly at break-neck speed, the rain attacking his bike like pungent spears, Darkwing felt a cold sweat trickle down his back.  
_'Oh my God, he's found her.  
The killer's found my daughter.'_

Years of driving at high speeds allowed Darkwing to get to his home quickly while bypassing a rather serious motorcycle accident any other person with normal dexterity might have encountered. But, of course, the fear that had aroused his actions for his beloved daughter was potent enough to send a spacecraft circling the illimitable reaches of the universe.  
A strong gust of wind sent his cape billowing majestically behind him as he sprinted up towards his house. The lights were completely out in his home, yet the streetlight at the end of the driveway seemed to pour light into the darkened property; exposing the falling rain from the clandestine sky and unmasking Darkwing's worse fears. A small sound caught his attention from the darkened side of the house as he ran up, and with every muscle twitching, he sprinted and threw an expertly-placed flying side kick into the shadowey figure's stomach. The figure crumpled as the breath flew from his mouth. Fueled by anger-induced audacity, Darkwing threw a fierce punch that whip-lashed the man and threw him on his back.  
"Okay, you sack of shit! You're under arrest for-"the words died in his mouth as a streak of lightning lit up the sky and the man that lay bleeding on the ground was unmistakingly Herb Muddlefoot.  
"Herb-" Darkwing couldn't say anymore as Herb struggled to get to his feet. Darkwing had been mistaken, and because of his insolent trust his daughter could be dead.  
"D-Darkwing.." He sputtered as he spit up yet even more blood and teeth.  
Arrant fury ran rapid through his body as he felt his blood boil. "Herb! Where's Gosalyn?! What have you done with her??"  
He didn't wait two second before pulling out a 9mm handgun, resurrected from a secret compartment on the Ratcatcher. He had always kept it for a plan C, the absolutely last resort. Yet he had yanked it from it's resting place as he pulled up, determined not to have a plan C.  
Plan A was all he could afford to use.  
Pointing the gun at Herb's head, he growled in a low, menacing tone. "You bastard, what have you done with her?"  
"Nothing! Nothing, I swear! I was just-" the audible click of the gun as the enraged father cocked it into loaded position echoed above the storm and sent silent chills down both of their spines. Darkwing knew he was an accurate shooter, even with a hand gun. Yet, as close as the two men were, the force of the blow would obliterate Herb's head, even if he missed and shot just to the side.  
"Herb, if you've so much as touched her I'll kill you! So help me God, I'll do it." The look of sheer hatred in the eyes of such a revered figure was enough to drop Herb to his knees.  
"Please don't-" he stammered, arms outstretched in surrenderance. "I'd never hurt Gos."  
"Bullshit! I saw what you did to your own wife! And to think, I once believed you were innocent." The gun was close enough to Herb's head that he could see the separate drops of rain dribbling down the smooth, metallic surface. Tears fell from his pallid cheeks as he stammered, "Please, I came to save them! _He_ got Binkie and he'll get Gosalyn and Honker, too! I-OH GOD!"

Herb's cry of sheer terror was the last thing Darkwing heard.

The first glimpses of consciousness were vague and indescript. Darkwing opened his eyes, and lifting his pounding head into position, looked slowly around his surroundings.  
His head throbbed trememdously, but no pain accounted for the ache that resonated on the right side of his head. He was dimly aware of the warm liquid that oozed it's way down from his forehead. His mind knew it was blood, but was unable to transfer the message anywhere else.  
They were in a dimly lit warehouse where, he assumed once he gained enough coherence to remember what had gone on, was somewhere near the bay. He could see lights flashing from the partially broken windows, and the piles of junk everywhere made even Gosalyn's room appear orderly.  
_Gosalyn_, his chest tightened as he looked around frantically for her. His brain pounded harshly against his skull, and he could feel the bile in his stomach bubbling and gurgling angrily.  
"Dad."  
The voice was faint and floated to him from behind. With his hands turned behind his back and to the back of the chair he was propped on, he attempted to turn towards the sound. His limited movement allowed him only to look back just enough to see his daughter entrapped in a small, ratted cage. She looked worn, with her lip busted and her right eye puffed and swollen. Yet, she was alive. Relief flooded through him as he saw her stand shakily to her feet and close the space between her body and the bars.  
"Hey, kid." He whispered in return. Launchpad and Morgana both acknowledged him and by looking over his left shoulder, he could visibly see them in their own cage.  
"Oh, Dark. We were worried that you'd never wake up." She said with a voice grown alist.  
"How long was I out?"  
" A good couple hours, Dw." Launchpad replied. "We were scared you'd..." He couldn't finish, yet his strained eyes expressed his concern more distinctly than any words could.  
Darkwing rotated his neck in an attempt to alleviate the searing pain, but to no avail.  
"Listen, we'll get out of this, I promise. I'll get you all out-" his assuring voice was interrupted by a more empowered one as the door to the warehouse flew open.  
"Now why are you going to make a promise you can't keep? That's not very heroic of you."  
The fact that the voice was coming from a sixteen year old boy did nothing to wilt the menacing fervor of the voice. Darkwing growled at Tank.  
"Speaking of heroism, since when does Darkwing Duck use guns? I thought only sissies played with firearms." Tank's voice reaked in sarcasm as he stepped closer to where Darkwing was forcibly perched, and twirled the gun playfully on his finger.  
"My thoughts, exactly." Darkwing amended with a hateful grin. Tank smirked at him.  
"Well, I would say that you were smart in packing a gun, but then again, how smart are you when you are incapacitated by a kid?" Tank gave a smile only a mother could love as he stepped into the light of a low hanging bulb. Darkwing kept his eyes instinctively on the boy as he replaced the gun into the brim of his mud-stained jeans and walked up to him. "Luckily I suceeded. I'm not at all that interested in getting busted by the cops before I get outta this city." He gave a look that reaked of poignant hell-fire. Darkwing looked back at him in arrant disgust. "Yes, that is lucky for you. I bet you'd hate to see the looks on the police's faces and know what they think when they realize it was you who raped and killed your own mother."  
Tank looked at him callously before throwing a hand into the air and walking away. "Ooh, aren't you just the perfect little angel?" He sneered as he walked a few steps over to a long table, keeping his back turned on the incapacitated crimefighter.  
Darkwing watched him closely, unable to see the table that was perched in a path of darkness neglected by the aged, cylindered yellow lights of the old warehouse. He craned his neck to see past the boy's boxy form, yet soon found his astute hearing to be a much more effective guide at revelating Tank's work. He could hear the all-too familiar clangs and clanks and dull thuds of metal-on-wood, and his body grew cold. He then began to wiggle furiously against his roped captor, growing frantic for a way free.  
Tank noticed that it had grown eerily quiet and turned from his meticulous work to look back around just as Darkwing became lax and still. He furrowed his brow at the avenger, gazing at him like a revolting pile of fecal matter. The sad irony was evident in Darkwing's mind of who more closely resembled the object being compared.  
To keep Tank occupied, Darkwing asked him before resuming wigging, "Tank, how could you? How could you do that to your own mother? How could you live with yourself?"  
His voice was loud and echoed off of the cold concrete walls of the abandoned warehouse, drowing out his fondling of the ropes. He secretly cursed himself for teaching the trio of kids his patented Darkwing double-cross half knot when they were little.  
"It's easy," Tank called from over his back as he continued on with his work. He then turned around calmly, looking at his prisoner. "After six hours of shots and a few lines of coke...well, it's amazing how easily you can...numb the pain."  
Darkwing continued to unravel the tenacious knots encircling his wrists, making sure to lessen his arm movements to prevent revealing his struggle. He kept his eyes locked on Tank as the boy stepped into the pale yellow light, holding a revolver sleek enough that it glinted homicidally in his burly hand.  
The boy gave a sadistic smile as he lowed the gun and approached the masked avenger. "Darkwing, I know you've run across my parents a time or two in the past. Did they ever...annoy you?"  
Darkwing glared at him darkly. "No."  
In a movement abhorrent to a person of such a large size, Tank ran up and hit him hard across the face with the barrel of his gun, careening his shoulders as if he had just slugged a baseball into the next city. Darkwing's head jerked violently to one side as he felt the portion of the world being seen through his eyes twirl upside down like a rollercoaster.  
"Don't lie to me, you son of a bitch!!"  
Darkwing fought hard for consciousness, knowing that passing out would withdraw all of Gosalyn's armor against the crazed maniac. Darkwing knew he was acccomplishing nothing more useful except throwing his own life into danger, but to keep his family safe, so be it.  
Darkwing finally forced himself to regain focus, only then realizing the thick, coppery taste of blood as it poured into his mouth from a ruptured lip.  
Tank stared at him fanatically, his breath coming in shallow gasps against his massive frame. Darkwing only then realized who he was up against. He had underestimated the level of the boy's insane brutality by basing him merely upon his age. He knew now that Tank was a volatile maniac, crazed deeply beyond his years.  
"Now tell me the truth! Anyone but anyone who comes in contact with tho..those..inbred MORONS has to see how fucking stupid and useless they are!!" As he screeched this, he flung the gun around in his hand like a useless toy, the weapon seeming to leave a metallic trail of light behind it as it flashed to and fro before Darkwing's dazed eyes. He could feel his neck prickle and prayed deeply that the gun wouldn't go off.  
"Yes," Darkwing sputtered in an attempt to placate Tank. He was successful, and Tank calmed himself enough to listen.  
"Yes..they were annoying, I'll admit that-"  
Tank's smile widened across his face as he threw back his head and cackled madly. From behind, Darkwing could hear Gosalyn whimper in despair. She must not be noticing his tries at freedom, he reasoned, for he had nearly loosened the restraints that held him at bay.  
Tank ceased his maniacal chuckling and wiped a straying tear from an eye. "Oh, that was freakin' hilarious. Annoying? Ha. Understatement of the year. 'Annoying' is running out of acid before the night's through. Or getting blue balls when some half-brained bitch won't seal the deal..." He trailed off with a sly grin. "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"  
Darkwing just glared at him.  
"Thought not. My parents are the fucking King and Queen of stupidity. They're so idiotic..to take thier lives from this earth would be a gift to mankind. Living with people like that will drive anyone to kill."  
Darkwing's hands were nearly loose enough that he could rotate his wrists and squeeze them out of the knots. Yet he waited for the opportune time to reveal his freedom, weighing that he had just one chance.  
"Okay, Tank. So your parents drove you crazy? What do the neighbors have to do with it?" He motioned with his head back behind him to the cages that held his family. "Why don't you just let them be? Don't spill more blood than necessary."  
The monstrous killer gave a thoughtful look at the crimefighter, then over his head at Gosalyn, Launchpad, and Morgana. He stroked his chin-with a visible layer of unshaved matter sprayed across-gently with his free hand, considering a correct response. "Ooh sure. I'm just going to let them go. Let them run off and tell the police it was me. That I was the one that killed mom-" he let out a hateful snicker that was so in character for him. "What do you take me for? Some no-brained sixteen year-old? Tsk tsk, Darkwing. You should know a criminal _mastermind_ when you see one."  
Darkwing scowled at Tank, refusing to consider such a pretentious bastard a mastermind at anything.  
"What do you mean they'll tell the police? The police will already know you did it. You can run, but you can't hide. It's only a matter of time before you are caught and justice is served!!"  
Tank stepped closer, in a fit of anger, but though against hitting him oncemore. He wanted the hero alive to witness his dirty work.  
Giving Darkwing a calming smile that made the hero's stomach flop, Tank held up an index finger, indicating him to stay put.  
"Where the hell am I supposed to go? To Lollipop Land?" Darkwing hissed as Tank turned and walked across the width of the decrepit warehouse. He disappeared into an adjoining room, in which allowed Darkwing a second to rip one hand free of the ropes.  
"Dad, you're-" Gosalyn began in a hoarse whisper once she saw what her father had accomplished. He silenced her with a "Shh!"  
Tank reappeared a moment later, with Herb and Honker Muddlefoot in tow, both of their arms bound behind their backs and their faces beaten to a pulp. One of Honker's lenses had shattered, cutting long slices into the tender flesh around his eyes.  
The malicious duck tossed the two onto the floor a few feet from Darkwing, in which they obliged and, in their battered state, flew across the cracked cement floor like ragdolls. Darkwing looked at them pityingly, feeling rather guilty that he assumed them dead not ten minutes ago.  
"See, you ingrated sons of bitches are going to end up dead because you know too much-" Tank growled at the victims encased in the cages. "Plus, you're all fucking morons. Yet no such amount of pleasure will come until I find that fucking dipstick, Drake Mallard." He walked up to Gosalyn's cage and she instinctively backed away. He looked at her with a kind of carnal insanity, his eyes wild and buzzing in their sockets.  
"Gosalyn, when I find your dad, I'm going to tie him down and remove organs. One by one. I don't know where he is now, or when he'll be back. All I know is, when he gets a call from the cops saying his daughter's head was found on his front doorstep, he'll come back." He laughed as Gosalyn grew pale and cringed. In a last resort to prevent becoming completely defenseless, she balled her fists and screamed, "You'll never get away with this, you fat oaf!"  
Tank smiled at the girl, admiring not her spirit but what pleasure he'll obtain once he ties her down and has his way with her before she dies. "Oh, you're wrong there, Gossie. I'll be fine 'n dandy. Because, I'm not going to be the one charged with killing you..." Tank began as he backed away from her cage and ambled directly to Honker, who shrank away at his brother's outreached hand. "Honker is."  
He stood his brother roughly to his feet and gave him a hearty slap on the back. "Nothing like a good 'ol murder/suicide, huh sport? Especially after all the 'traumatic' occurences lately that's left you crazy and vengeful."  
He shoved the boy harshly back onto the floor and turned to acknowledge Darkwing, who had felt the strong steel of panic rise in his throat. He knew how Tank was going to stage this, and he knew it would work.  
"A couple of days ago, I spoke to Detective Sherman, who gave me the okay to leave and go over to Paris, France, where my Aunt Becky lives. I am allowed to 'escape the turmoil' as long as I stay with Aunt Becky at all times-" Tank turned his maddening gaze to Herb, who said nothing. Tears began to roll down his cheeks as his gaze fell to the floor. Tank looked back at Darkwing, a broad smile widdening. "Now, a sixteen year-old with red hair and a passport and driver's license with the name 'Tank Muddlefoot' flew from St. Canard airport to Paris, France, yesturday. He is actually at Aunt Becky's house as of an hour or so ago." Tank checked the watch on his wrist for emphasis rather than time.  
"And my lovely Aunt Becky hasn't seen me since I was a baby, so it wasn't much of a problem to send someone in my shoes, especially since I've spent the last six months familiarizing him with my life." He gave a self-indulgant giggle. "He knows everything down to what size underwear we all wear."  
Darkwing could feel a cold sweat break out over his face as he marveled Tank's shrewed intellect. This was actually a Muddlefoot that planned all of this?  
"So, let me guess. You've got a passport and plane ticket under a false name to somewhere crazy like, oh, say..Finland, perhaps?"  
Tank rose his eye brows and smacked his hands together roughly. The claps echoed throughout the building in a hollow, merciless tone. "Netherlands, actually. Bravo, Darkwing Duck. Nice to see I get to do away with at least ONE person with a hint of intelligence. Yes, though, I leave next week. By the time someone figures something fishy out, I'll be..oh, let's say 'unreachable.' A week will give me the chance to kill off that jack-ass Drake Mallard and gain some worthy recognition for offing a world-renowned hero."  
Tank pulled a pair of nylon gloves out of his back pocket and slipped them on, careful not to touch the exterior side. "Now, without further talk, let's do this." He immediately walked over to the cage holding a very fear-stricken Gosalyn with a wickedly pernicious look on his face. The fact that he was actually _enjoying_ this made her want to retch. Taking the cage door, un-locking the lock, he flung it open and grabbed her around the waist in a forceful bear hug as she squirmed and wiggled madly.  
"Let go!!" She screamed as she struggled to disengage her hands. She knew once an arm was free, he would get the beating of a lifetime. Yet before she had a chance to respond, Tank reeled back and punched her hard with his fist, colliding it with her face and throwing her onto her back. In a lightning move, he was on top of her, grinning devilishly.  
"NO, Tank!!" Honker screamed as he picked himself up to his knees. Launchpad could be heard from behind as he rattled the cage in an adrenaline-induced rage.  
"LET HER GO!!" He roared, and Morgana jumped to her feet, preparing to conjure up some sort of spell. Yet, before anyone had time to react, Gosalyn watched in horror as Tank pressed himself on her, struggling to unbutton her jeans. Her head was swimming from the blow she'd just received, and in a croaked voice, she whimpered, "Dad.."  
"Don't call your dad, bitch! He isn't here!!" Tank spat as he struggled to keep her at bay.  
"WRONG, ASS HOLE!" Came a bone-numbing yell as Tank looked up to see Darkwing springing onto him, throwing him off of Gosalyn and onto the floor. Tank flopped along the ground and looked up just in time to see a swift fist catching him in the jaw and reeling him back to the cold ground.  
Gosalyn laid on the floor languidly, unable to move. Honker made his way over to her, kicking and slithering like a half-paralyzed snake.  
"Gosalyn?" He whispered as she turned her head slowly and looked at him, half dazed.  
"Can you untie me?"  
She looked at him a moment, as if he had just spoken to her in an entirely different language. Yet after taking a moment to understand what he'd said, she rolled over and proceeded to untie him.  
Launchpad and Morgana watched on helplessly as Darkwing and Tank battled fiercly against one another. Although Darkwing was an adept martial artist and in impeccible shape, the sheer hatred Tank witheld seemed to fuel his body. Darkwing ducked, deflecting a wicked jab and threw a turning-back-side kick into Tank's stomach, in which he folded like a napkin and toppled to the ground with a rib-cracking "Oof!"  
Darkwing watched for any movement, and once realizing that Tank was out cold, ran to help the others.  
Honker was already free and had liberated Launchpad and Morgana, who ran to Darkwing's aid. Herb was also free, yet still remained on the floor, seemingly frozen in horror.  
"Oh, dad!" Gosalyn flung herself on him despertly. He grabbed her and held her as tightly as he could.  
"Oh, God, I'm glad you're okay." He was nearly in tears as he cuddled her gently. "Listen to me. I want you four out of here-go get the police. I'll stay here with Tank."  
"But..dad-"  
"No 'but's', Gos. Go. You too, Lp!" He motioned towards the only exit out of the warehouse, which lay across the length of the building, and they started off for it, abiding by his orders. Gosalyn trailed behind as Launchpad, Honker, and Morgana sprinted off in the other direction, the red head watching fearfully over her shoulder at Tank's massive body lying still on the cold pavement.  
Darkwing went over to Herb, kneeling to face him and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.  
"Herb, buddy, you okay?"  
Herb continued to stare at the floor, his entire body wracked in shakes. He stayed still for a long time, finally looking up into the crimefighter's eyes. "I...I can't believe it. First Binkie...now, Tank..I...I.." his voice cracked and all of the energy died within him. Darkwing looked at him raptly, deeply sorry.  
"C'mon, Herb. Let's get you-"  
"DAD!!!!!"  
His daughter's shrill scream hummed in his body as he sprang to his feet, looking first at Gosalyn, who was the only one still left in the entrance of the warehouse. Her face was contorted in an expression of sheer horror as she gazed off to Darkwing's right. The avenger looked off over his shoulder to see Tank on his feet, his eyes venemously slitted in Gosalyn's direction. The sleek revolver in his hand gleamed at the red head in a deadly sneer.  
Darkwing's blood ran cold as he charged at Tank, his screames of rebellion evaporating over the firing of the gun. In an instant he dove in front of the gun, every muscle in his body tense and exerting all it's strength imaginable. The deafening ring resonated in his ears.

Gosalyn watched in sheer terror as her father dove in front of Tank, catching the bullet squarely in the chest. He fell haphazardly to the floor, his limp body sliding across the slick concrete. Launchpad ran up to her then, and grabbed her numb body and jerked her towards him as the ringing of the gun pierced the night again. They both landed hard on the broken sidewalk outside of the warehouse, rain pelting onto them in mercilless fury.

Gosalyn's lungs screamed for air as she coughed and jumped to her feet. She ran back towards the entrance, screaming for her father despertly. Launchpad flailed his arms out in a desperate attempt to keep her at bay, but to no avail. Morgana and Honker ran in after her, yet stopped dead still in the shadows of Darkwing Duck's daughter.

What lay out before them was a perverse spectacle, a sick and twisted world they all wished to escape. Tank was flopped onto the ground, illuminated by the paling light, the better part of his head missing. Darkwing lay a few feet away, with Herb the only one left standing. The gun in his hand fell with a deafening clank onto the floor as he crumpled to his knees beside his partially decapitated son.

Gosalyn choked back a cry as she tore off to her father, falling to her knees beside his body. She watched as blood poured from an open wound in his chest, tainting his cloths and dripping lazily to the floor.  
"Dad?" She croaked as if someone had their hands around her neck. Through a prism of tears, she watched him, waiting impatiently for him to stir. She wanted more than anything to see his bright blue eyes again. Just one more time.

Morgana, Launchpad, and Honker all ran up to them, their hearts racing. Morgana took one look at her lover's body and screamed, backing away. Launchpad's lip quivered as he fell to his knees beside Gosalyn, who was trying despertly to wake him up.  
"Dad, please. Come on..wake up!" She shook him gently, yet he did nothing to respond. Taking her hands, she pressed them gently across his chest in a failing attempt to stop blood flow. Launchpad broke into tears and fell to his hands at the sight.  
"Please, dad!! Please wake up!! You can't go!!! You're Darkwing Duck!! No one can hurt you! Remember?!" Her voice went alist against her shakey breath as gentle tears fell from her glistening green eyes. Morgana had scooted up beside her, sobbing madly.  
Gosalyn gazed over at Morgana numbly, as if staring at her for the first time. In a choking whisper, she said, "D-do something."  
Morgana gazed up at her, silent.  
"You....do something..HELP HIM!!"  
She looked from Gosalyn to Darkwing, who's gentle face looked so brave..so dignified. She then knew she could do nothing for her love. He had fulfilled his destiny. It was his time.  
She looked back at Gosalyn, then dropped her head shamefully. "I can't."  
"DO SOMETHING NOW!!" Gosalyn screamed as Morgana stood shakily to her feet. The red head watched her stand, enraged and appalled that the sorceress had the dead world at her fingertips yet would do nothing to send him back.  
"What kind of person are you?! He loved you! And you won't even save him? You don't deserve to be his love!!" In a flash, Gosalyn was in a half-squat position and sprang at Morgana, shoving her fiercly. Morgana toppled back and fell onto her butt.  
"Gosalyn, I love him more than anything!! I would gladly take his place, if I could! But I can't bring him back!! I have no power to!"  
Morgana fell onto her side and covered her face in her hands. Gosalyn looked back at her father, refusing to believe that this was the end.

"Gosalyn," Launchpad whispered after a moment. He had developed just enough energy to push himself to his feet, his tears still sliding down his face in an onpour.  
Gosalyn had nearly cried herself into hysteria as Launchpad reached out to her, in which she shoved him away angrily.  
"NO! Go away!! I've got to stay with him!"  
"Gos, baby, he's gone-"  
"NO! No he isn't!! He's Darkwing Duck! You can't kill Darkwing Duck!"  
Launchpad grabbed her as gently as he could, knowing that if she stayed there too long she'd break down.  
"Launchpad, let go!!" She screeched as he picked her up in a kind of haphazard hug, fearing to loosen or tighten his grip. He pulled her away as gently as a person kicking and punching could go, his arms aching as he pulled her across the warehouse.  
"No!!" She cried despertly, her breathing raspy and deep in her throat. "Please...no...."

_"Tonight's top story. Grief strikes the nation as world renowned hero Darkwing Duck dies of a gunshot wound, in an attempt to save civilians from a deranged murderer. Darkwing Duck has been the recepient of numerous purple hearts in his single-handed triumphs over global terrorists, malicious dictators, and otherwise supernatural forces. Here is Nancy Thomas on more..."_  
Launchpad flipped off the television, throwing the living room into pitch black. He had seen CBS' broadcast over Darkwing's death numerous times in the last 24 hours, including the heartfelt speech from the president himself. Each time they broadcasted it, it seemed harder and harder to stomach.

Launchpad sat for a moment, enveloped in darkness. Speaking of stomach, he nor Gosalyn had eaten since last evening, since they'd been kidnapped. It was the longest he had ever gone without food, yet the thought of it made him nearly retch.  
Standing to his feet, he'd suddenly realized that he hadn't seen Gosalyn nearly all day. The last time he'd spoken to her was this morning, right after he found out that Herb had taken the same gun he had hidden in his shirt-the one he shot Tank with-and had killed himself. After he told her what Herb had done, Gosalyn merely looked at him a moment before walking away, and disappeared emotionlessly to Darkwing Tower.

The Tower.

Launchpad's eyes fell onto the two spinning chairs as the pale light from the full moon sent a checkered glow through the window panes that fell over the chairs in a blanket. He didn't feel he had the courage to venture into such a place then, not when the poignant absence of his hero and best friend seemed everywhere; choking and suffocating. Yet he had to find Gosalyn. So after a shuddered breath, he went.

_Darkwing kissed his daughter gently on her forehead as he tucked her into bed. The oversized bed with the baseball emblems splashed across the comforter.  
"Dad, where are you going tonight?" Gosalyn had asked, wise beyond her nine years on this earth.  
"Out." He replied with a smile. She looked at him closely, admiring how his eyes sparkled when he looked at her.  
"Can I come? I can help. Plleeaassee?"  
Darkwing couldn't resist and wrapped his arms around her in a gentle hug.  
"Sorry, honey. It's too dangerous. I can't risk something happening to you."  
Gosalyn conceded to that fact, especially since it's the same one he'd told her every other night.  
He bid her farewell and made his way towards the door, only to have her call him oncemore.  
Turning around, he regarded her. "Yes, hon?"  
"Dad, be careful. Okay?"  
Darkwing smiled and blew his little one a kiss. "Don't worry. No one can hurt Darkwing Duck."_

Launchpad found Gosalyn where he knew she'd be; sitting on the ledge of the tower, on the side that overlooked the ocean. She and Darkwing frequently sat there together, talking to one another as they watched the nautical breeze blow the night clouds lazily by. As Gosalyn grew older, the two had become so close, and coincidentally, just alike.  
Launchpad stepped out onto the ledge and was immediately greeted with a gentle breeze that smelt of fresh salt water and Azalea blooms.  
Launchpad waited a moment before sitting next to her, allowing her a chance to tell him to leave. Yet as she sat still, hands at each side and shoulder slumped, she regarded him in a near whisper that was almost lost to the dying wind. "You can sit, Launchpad."  
The pilot gave a moment more hesitation before he sat beside her. He looked over at her, his mouth open in every intention of asking how she was doing, but all words withered in his lungs as he looked at her. She looked older, more of a thirty year-old in a lanky fifteen year-old body. She also looked worn, so incredibly worn.  
The silence held thick over them as they sat next to one another, both still sure of the need to move forward yet completely ignorant of knowing how to do so.  
"Why did this happen, Launchpad?" Gosalyn finally spoke, in a creaking voice struggling to keep composure. Launchpad looked over at her, watching her eyes water as she faced the endless ocean.  
"He's faced some of the most ruthless, dangerous men in the world. He's been shot, stabbed, beaten, choked, all of that stuff. He was invincible..."she trailed off as her voice broke and she began to cry. Launchpad took her in his arms, rocking her gently and struggling to cry as silently as possible. He knew he needed to be the strong one. Darkwing was gone. It was up to him, now.  
"I know, sweetie. He was invincible, but not immortal. A bullet to the chest would get anyone, no matter who held the gun."  
Gosalyn clung to his broad chest, sobbing uncontrollably. "Why, though? Out of everyone..it had to be my dad. The one person who ever understood me. I would give anything to talk to him again, even if it's for only a minute."  
Gosalyn's pain-wracked sobs filled the air around them as they sat on the edge of the tower their hero had once claimed residence to; amidst a city he once protected.  
Launchpad's mind ached for a way to console her, to explain how everything would work out. Oh, if only he had DW there to help him! He always had such a way with words, and his daughter.  
"Gosalyn, sometimes things are just meant to be-" he trailed off when he realized he was doing nothing more productive than causing the red head to cry harder. He cleared his throat, and his eyes lit up as he realized just what he needed to say, as if someone had whispered it into his ear.  
"Gosalyn, do you know what your dad always wanted to make sure he did? The only thing he wanted to accomplish in his life?" He whispered the question in a kind of wonder-like charm that Darkwing had always been known to do. Gosalyn reacted to it, and lifted her head gently.  
"What?" She asked, looking into Launchpad's kind eyes. Launchpad gave her a little half-smile as he lifted her chin.  
"To make sure you were okay. All of the battles he's won, the fame and glory he's received, the awards he's gotten, none of it would have been worth a flip if you hadn't been around."  
Gosalyn sniffled a little and dried her eyes."Really?"  
Launchpad gave her a node."Gosh, Gos. Right after the moment he met you, he knew he had to have you in his life. He loved you so much, kiddo. He would've done anything and everything for you. You made his life...well, worth living."  
What he'd said made her smile a little, a foreign action Launchpad swore he'd never see her do again. She dried the fresh tears that had fallen onto her rosy cheeks, gaining composure slowly but surely.  
"You know, there is a way to keep him alive." Launchpad looked at the girl, who looked at him, incredulous.  
"There is?"  
"Through you. Everyone lives on through the lives of their children."  
As his words registered in her mind, her smile faltered. With narrowed eyes, she shook her head and sighed.  
"No, Lp. I'm not going to continue his legacy." She said darkly, in a tone that made Launchpad's blood run icy. "Gos, why not? You've always been so interested in being a superhero..."  
"Because, my father died in an attempt to make the world a better place. But he couldn't. No one can. There's always going to be hate, prejudice, and evil as long as mankind is still present."  
Launchpad sighed as she said this, opening his palms and looking at them closely. They were shaking.  
"Gos, he made it better for the good people. The ones who needed him. There's been a lot of times that I think...well, I _know_ that, if it wasn't for Dw, then the country might actually crumble at the hands of some horrible dictator. The world might have ended, in a few cases." He gave a little shudder, trying despertly to rid his body of the chill that resontated with him despite the warm night air. He turned and looked at her oncemore, his eyes pleading. "Gos, I'd hate to think of a world that doesn't have that kind of protector in it."  
Gosalyn pursed her lips, thinking. Finally, she stood from her postion on the ledge, her face in a scowl. "That protector's gone. I'm not going to take his place. I never want to see another gun as long as I live."Her voice hummed at him mercilessly, a characteristic so unlike her own when she spoke to Launchpad.  
With that, she stepped into the darkness of the tower, leaving Launchpad alone.

With a defeated sight, Launchpad cupped his hands together and gazed into the night sky, watching with mounting curiosity as the full moon's milky surface bubbled and melted into a deep reddish color. The same color that resembled the giant pools of blood lying stagnant after last night's massacre.

After a moment of thinking how he was going to manage without his best friend's help, Launchpad sighed and stood up, his arms feeling too heavy to move from their lifeless dangle at his sides.  
"Oh, Dw. I'm so sorry. Some sidekick I turned out to be."  
He stood a moment with his head drooped like a wilting flower, chin to chest. He waited patiently, as if awaiting a reply. Yet none came. Feeling weaker than ever, he turned and sauntered into the smothering darkness of Darkwing Tower.

Morgana unclipped the bun atop her head, now half-fallen from neglect. The silky black locks fell around her shoulders in an almost perfect form, laying elegantly across her face.  
Drake loved her hair like that.  
At that thought, Morgana's hands reached to her face as she began to sob. Not loud sobs, but soft ones. The kind of sobs that send a ripple of pain throughout the body.  
She trudged slowly in front of the long, opened window in the bedroom of McCawber Manor, the light from the reddening moon splashing a ruddy tint across the landscape. She immediately quieted herself as she went to the window, gazing out at the moon in a hushed gasp. "A Harvest moon..." she said in a voice that resembled an old wooden door creaking open. She stared at the large orb as it grew, its colors darkening into a sinister glare.

With a pounding heart, Morgana ran to the opposite side of the darkened room and flung herself onto her spellbook, which lay on an ancient podium encased in cobwebs. Opening it, she flipped through the pages with reckless and frantic regard, stopping once her eyes lit upon the page she needed. Her eyes danced madly in her head as she read down the page, the tiny hairs on the back of her neck prickling as she went.  
"....hasn't ever been seen before in this century...last seen after Joan of Arc was unjustly burned at the stake in 1431....it _feasts on the blood of the living until proper order is restored_..." she nearly choked on her own words as the sentence puffed out of her ragged breath.  
Staggering backwards until she was pressed against her ancient bureau, she placed her hands across her mouth, eyes wide and petrified.  
"There's a bad moon rising-" she managed to exhale into the night air, which had grown all too chillngly cool.  
"-we're all going to die."

Copywright Lesley Hall May 22, 2004. None of the characters are owned by me, nor is the song "Stairway to heaven" by Led Zeppelin. Disney owns everything..of course we all know that...and I took the characters without permission, but not for profit.  



	8. Bad Moon Rising: Author's Notes

Author's Comment:  
It was my original intention to keep Darkwing alive, considering the antagonist of the story was undoubtedly a sixteen year-old. Yet instead of looking at the age, look at the amount of malevolence that Tank witheld. Someone mean enough to do something like that to their mother is definately a bigger adversary than a vilian with compassion.  
I appreciate all reviews, and I love to hear the opinions the readers present. I appreciate it all, Thank You.  
"Destiny comes when you least expect it and leaves before you're ready for it to." -Proverb. 


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